BERT   E.  COWAN 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

,  r.v 

C.  P.  HUNTINGTON 

d  U  N  . 

Accession  No. W  0^0^-       Class  N 


METRICAL      PASTIMES 


FOUNTAIN     ROCK. 


FOUNTAIN    ROCK, 


AMY    WIEB, 


OTHER    METRICAL    PASTIMES 


oar 


GEORGE     HAY     RIXGGOLD, 

TJ.  S.  A. 


"What  shadows  we  are,  what  shadows  we  pursue!11 


NEW    YORK: 
"W.   A..   TO^VNSEN 

1860. 


Entered,  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  I860,  by 

GEOEGE  HAY  EIXGGOLD, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


C.   A.  ALTOBD,  6TEBEOTTFEB  AND  PRINTER,  15  VANDEWATEJl   STREET,  If.  T. 


CONTENTS. 


r  PACK 

FOUNTAIN    ROCK, 13 

ii. 

AMY  WIER,  ....  .31 

in. 
MISCELLANEOUS,          ...  .43 

ELUISE,  ....  45 

A  SERENADE,      ......       47 

GERALDINE,     ...... 

DARKNESS,  ....  .52 

SUMMER  LEAVES,     ...  54 

To  A  TRAVELLER,       ...  .55 

SAN  PABLO,  ...  56 

LINES  AT  SEA,  .....       60 

AGNES,  ....  62 

MISERERE,  ......       64 

NANNIE  DARLING,  ....  67 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 
OH  !     WOULD    I    WERE    WITH    TlIEE    FOREVER,          70 

THE  Two  VIOLETS,         ....  72 

OH  !  WOULD  I  WERE  FREE,         .         .  .78 

LIFE,       ..        .        .        .        .         .         .  81 

THE  DOG  AND  THE  CROCODILE,           .  .       86 

AN  EVENING  SKETCH,     .         .         .         ,  87 

ROSALINDA,          .         1         . '.  .                .  .       90 

NOW  WHEN  THE  SlIADES,  ETC.,         .         .  93 

LOST  AT  SEA,    ,'. .       .         '.         .         .  94 

DEATH,            .        ..'    *"..,.•        .         .        .  97 

UNSELFISH  LOVE,        i         . '       .         .  .100 

DOWN  BY  SILENT  WATERS,    *.         .         .  102 

FORTUNE'S  FAVORITE,           I      '  .         .  .     105 

LONGINGS,       '.        '.        '.        '.        .        .  108 

A  WINTER  ELEGY,       '.  .       '.•        .         .  .     Ill 

CONFIDENCE,            '.        *.    :     .         .         .  114 

MARGARET,          *.       .*       'i         .        .  .     117 

THE  BRIDAL  MORN,        V        .         .         .  121 

To  Miss  K.  M.,  ON  HER  WEDDING  DAY,  .     129 

CAST  DOWN,           .".        V        .        ;  v  131 

THE  YELLOW  FEVER,           *         .  '      .  .     133 

HOPE  AND  DESPAIR,        .         .         .         .  130 


CONTENTS.  7 

PAGE 

AFTER  AN  ILLNESS,     .         .         .         .         .141 
MEMORY  OF  CHILDHOOD,  .         .         .         143 

THE  DYING  GIRL  TO  HER  LOVER,       .         .146 
MORNING,         .         .         .         .         .         .         147 

NIGHT, 151 

SPIRIT  OF  THE  NIGHT  WIND,  .         .         156 

To  Miss  II.  McT., 161 

A  NIGHT  AT  SEA,  .         .         .         .         163 

THE  Two  WORLDS,  .         .         .         .165 

CONSTANCY,     .         .         .         .         .         .         168 

RHYMES  ABOUT  THE  CABLE,         .         .         .     171 
FOR  ALL  BUT  ME,  .         .         .         .         174 

LITTLE  TOMMY,  .         .         .         .         .176 

THOUGHTS  OF  HEAVEN,  .         .         .         178 

SUNDAY  EVENING,       .  .     180 

EVENING  HYMN,      .         .         .         .         .         183 

AUBURN,  MY  HOME,  .         .         .         .185 

DESOLATION,  .         .         .         .         .         186 

HOPE, 188 

EVA, 189 

IV. 

GRANDMAMMA'S   CHRISTMAS  TALE,    .        191 


8  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 
V. 

NEVERMORE,      .        .        .        .        .         .  209 

MY  MARY,          -.         .         ...         .         .  211 

FAREWELL,       .         ^        %         *     •    p    •      .  212 

To  MARY,  WITH  A  DOUBLE  WILD  JASMINE,  214 

LINES  TO  THE  WILD  JASMINE,         .         *.  21 G 
THE  STEAMBOAT,         ...         .         .         .218 

SONG — WHEN  EARLY  BEAMS,          .       . .  221 

SONG— 'Tis  PLEASANT,  ETC.,        -.        ...    •    .  222 

SONG — WHEN  THE  BRIGHT  GAUDY  BEAMS,  223 

THE  NOISY  OLD  MILL,        .         .         .         .  225 

SONG,      .         ,         ,         .  ,       .         .         /  228 
'Tis  ABSENCE  PROVES,        ...         .         .230 

SONG — THOU  ART  NOT  HERE,           .         .  232 

ABSENCE,      .                          .         .         .         .  233 

THE  FIRST  FIRE  OP  AUTUMN,          .         .  234 

IMPROMPTU,         ..        ...         »"     ..»         .  235 

RETURN  HOME,       ,        ,        .   .    ;f        .  237 

I  AM  NOT  OLD,            ,        ;        %      v  ..        .  239 


I. 
FOUNTAIN   ROCK. 


FOUNTAIN    ROCK. 


INVOCATION   TO   MEMORY. 

"ARTIST  rare!  whose  pencil  brings 
To  view  the  forms  of  perished  things  ; 
Whose  faithful,  yet  whose  sadd'ning  touch, 
Of  the  sweet  past  portrays  so  much  ; 
And  with  the  tints  thy  pallet  bears— 
Those  sombre  lines  of  vanished  years — 
While  warm  the  bright'ning  picture  glows, 
O'er  all  a  pensive  shadow  throws : 
Thee  I  invoke !  whose  wondrous  art 
So  captivates  the  wounded  heart, 
That  in  thy  mirror,  for  each  grief, 
Reflected  lies  some  sweet  relief, 
A  little  while  the  soul  to  bless, 
And  cheat  it  of  its  bitterness. 


14  FOUNTAIN    ROCK. 

Thy  power  alone  can  fill  my  gaze 
With  visions  of  departed  days; 
Alone  can  thy  unrivaled  skill 
With  long-lost  joys  the  canvas  fill. 
Thy  task  begin  then,  graphic  maid, 
With  spirit  let  the  sketch  be  made; 
Shades  of  vanished  times  renew, 
Paint  the  picture  strong  and  true ; 
And  while  before  my  eager  eye 
The  panorama  passes  by, 
And  each  sweet  scene,  with  softened  ray, 
One  moment  glows,  then  glides  away. 
Pause  whene'er  that  hallowed  place, 
My  childhood's  happy  home,  I  trace. 
And  grant,  O  generous  Nymph,  one  boon- 
Let  me  detain  the  bright  cartoon, 
Whose  faithful  outline  fills  my  brain 
With  thee,  old  Fountain  Rock,  again. 
And  on  each  feature  let  me  dwell, 
Let  me  scan  each  object  well, 
Each  op'ning  flower,  each  tender  leaf, 
With  beauty  tinted — bright,  but  brief. 
Then  let  some  glow  of  generous  fire 
With  truth  and  force  my  song  inspire, 


FOUNTAIN    ROCK.  15 

And  in  gay  measures  flowing  fast, 
Call  up  the  spirit  of  the  past." 


Dearest  of  all  the  spots  of  earth, 
That  sweetly  smiled  upon  my  birth, 
Where  first  the  vital  air  I  drew, 
Invigorate  with  wholesome  dew, 
Where  calmly  slept  the  nnfathomed  sea 
Of  my  unconscious  infancy, 
And  'mid  bright  birds  and  budding  flowers, 
Flew  childhood's  sweet  and  rosy  hours; 
Methinks  e'en  now,  in  summer  bloom, 
I  see  thee  in  the  distance  loom, 
As  winding  down  the  shady  road, 
I  reach  the  gate  beside  the  wood. 
Here  let  me  yield  to  sweet  delay, 
Nor  in  my  haste  be  drawn  away, 
Till  every  tree,  or  stump,  or  stone, 
Rises,  familiar,  one  by  one. 
[n  each  some  pleasing  memory  lives, 
Tli  at  silently  its  welcome  gives, 
Not  framed  in  studied  phrase  of  art, 
But  speaking  sweetly  to  the  heart. 


16  FOUNTAIN    ROCK. 

II. 

At  length  is  neared  the  grassy  brook, 
"Where  oft  I've  sat  with  line  and  hook, 
And  if  a  tiny  minnow  took, 
With  prize  so  rich  I  felt  more  pride, 
I  ween,  than  half  the  world  beside — • 
More  pure  delight  than  conquerors,  far, 
With  all  their  laurels  won  in  war. 

in. 

At  every  step  more  eager  grown, 
With  quickening  pace  I  hurry  on, 
And  now  I  rise  the  hill  at  last; 
The  hedge  is  neared — the  gate  is  passed— 
The  path  with  sudden  turn  displays, 
Full  bursting  on  my  raptured  gaze, 
The  Eden  of  my  early  days. 
And  oh!    with  what  impetuous  gush, 
Old  feelings  through  my  bosom  rush ; 
The  same  sensations  thrill  me  through, 
As  \vhen  a  boy  they  used  to  do. 
How  well  I  mind  at  that  sweet  time, 
With  youth's  bright  blossoms  in  their  prime. 


FOUNTAIN    BOCK.  IT 

When  absent  for  a  single  day, 

I  sighed  the  weary  hours  away, 

And  thought  the  moment  ne'er  would  come, 

To  seek  once  more  my  own  blest  home. 


IV. 


!N"ow,  as  of  yore,  the  peaceful  scene 
Extends  in  loveliness  serene; 
The  white- walled  mansion,  stretching  wide 
Its  airy  wings  on  either  side; 
The  slated  roof,  the  dormers  grey, 
Touched  by  the  morning's  misty  ray ; 
The  stately  poplars,  lifting  high 
Their  mitred  heads  against  the  sky; 
The  oval  plot,  the  road  around, 
That  served  us  for  our  racing  ground, 
Where  oft  we  strove  like  blooded  bays, 
To  reach  the  goal  and  win  the  praise  ; 
Yet,  harmless  as  this  sport  appears, 
'Tis  the  dark  type  of  future  years — 
First  print  of  passion's  hand  on  life — 
Baptismal  mark  of  after  strife ; 
For  at  our  childhood's  very  dawn, 
The  seeds  of  rivalry  are  sown, 
2 


18  FOUNTAIN    KOCK, 

And  emulation's  germ  is  nursed 

With  fostering  care,  until,  at  first 

A  puny  shrub,  it  grows  to  be 

Ambition's  deadly  Upas  tree. 

Alas !    the  troubled  heart  of  man 

Throbs  on  through  life  as  it  began; 

"With  youth's  first  flush  'tis  taught  to  crave, 

Nor  finds  repose  but  in  the  grave. 

v. 

How  qniet  sleeps  the  grassy  green! 
Here  at  the  musing  hour  of  e'en, 
When  cooling  dews  begin  to  fall, 
'Tis  sweet,  beneath  this  old  gray  wall, 
Where  thickly  weaves  the  mantling  vine, 
To  mark  the  twilight's  mild  decline, 
As  its  last  ling'ring  tints  decay 
Before  the  full  moon's  mellow  ray, 
That,  streaming  o'er  yon  Eastern  wood, 
Bathes  it  in  a  silvery  flood; 
While  in  calm  ether  poised  above, 
The  lazy  clouds  forget  to  move ; 
And  the  soft  hour  invites  the  throng 
Of  insects  to  their  evening  song; 


FOUNTAIN    ROCK.  19 

While  all  around,  below,  above, 

Breathe  such  an  air  of  peace  and  love, 

Enchantment  seems  with  gentle  sway, 

To  lure  the  willing  soul  away. 

But  changed  with  manhood's  serious  years, 

This  holy,  quiet  scene  appears; 

The  present  hath,  with  altered  mien, 

Thrust  its  cold  shadow  in  between, 

And  saddened  down  that  cheerful  tone, 

Till  sombrous  now  as  is  its  own. 

Yet  doth  the  moon,  with  tender  light, 

Smile  through  the  shadows  of  the  night, 

Bringing  with  her  a  beauty,  too, 

The  golden  sunlight  never  knew. 

'Tis  thus  when  life's  best  hours  have  flown. 

And  twilight  cold  conies  creeping  on, 

AYe  look  beyond  this  ruined  waste, 

A  gleam  seems  widening  in  the  east; 

We  leave  our  broken  dreams  behind, 

In  heaven's  own  light  our  joys  to  find. 

VI. 

And  here,  when  noon-day  warm  and  bright, 
Had  heavenward  wooed  the  dews  of  night, 


20  FOUNTAIN    ROCK. 

I  loved  at  liide-and-seek  to  play, 
Among  the  tents  of  new-made  hay. 
Again  methinks  I  liear  the  sound 
Of  merry  laughter  pealing  round, 
From  yonder  troop  of  romping  boys, 
Companions  of  my  youthful  joys. 
And  'tis  so  sweet  again  to  trace 
The  features  of  each  welcome  face — 
The  sparkling  eye — the  ruddy  cheek — 
The  lips  ne'er  parted  but  to  speak 
In  young  delight's  wild,  thoughtless  glee 
Of  hope,  and  love,  and  ecstacy. 
Play  on,  O  blessed  childhood,  play! 
No  thorns  beset  thy  flowery  way ; 
All  thy  joys  are  born  above, 
And  guarded  by  an  angel's  love, 
Till,  full  matured,  they  wander  thence, 
To  light  on  truth  and  innocence ; 
Ling'ring  a  little  season  here, 
Making  all  things  bright  appear, 
But  when  years  to  youth  are  given,. 
Flying  back  again  to  heaven. 


FOUNTAIN    ROOK.  21 

VII. 

At  length  I  reach,  in  bright'ning  mood, 
The  grassy  knoll  where  oft  I've  stood, 
And  gaze  o'er  field,  and  hill,  and  wood ; 
Mark  the  "broad  vale,  the  mountains  blue, 
Distant  ranging  in  the  view ; 
The  pleasant  fields,  the  meadows  gay 
With  many  a  rick  of  fragrant  hay; 
The  hawthorn  hedge  with  berries  red, 
The  lawn  a  perfect  flower-bed  ; 
The  dingle  deep  around  the  spring, 
Where  used  the  russet  wren  to  sins?, 

o" 

And,  with  the  robin  and  the  thrush, 

Made  melody  in  every  bush; 

While  darting  through  the  flowers  was  heard 

The  green  enameled  humming-bird. 

Lo  !    in  the  East  the  morn  appears, 

Glist'ning,  wet  with  night's  fresh  tears; 

And  playfully  a  gentle  breeze 

Is  murmuring  through  the  leafy  trees. 

Flowers  around  of  every  hue, 

Bend  with  the  weight  of  morning  dew; 

The  lark  pours  forth  her  carol  blithe, 


22  FOUNTAIN    ROCK. 

Tlie  mower  sweeps  liis  dripping  scythe, 
While  down  yon  narrow  lane,  just  seen 
O'er  the  tall  corn  that  waves  between, 
The  heifers  to  the  meadow  pass, 
To  feed  upon  the  juicy  grass; 
And  quietly  on  yonder  hill — 
Around  whose  foot  a  gentle  rill, 
By  flowery  banks,  with  easy  flow, 
Goes  murmuring  to  the  meads  below — 
Browsing  there  the  bleating  sheep, 
In  timid  crowds  together  keep, 
While  falls  upon  the  pleased  ear, 
The  shepherd's  whistle,  sweet  and  clear; 
With  chorus  joyous,  full,  and  free, 
From  the  feathered  minstrelsy. 

VIII. 

Leaving  this  cherished  scene  behind, 
Along  the  straggling  path  I  wind, 
And  soon  spreads  out  the  garden  neat, 
Like  chaste  embroidery,  at  my  feet. 
Here  art  and  nature  strive  to  bring, 
Each  one,  a  richer  offering; 
Here  bright  Pomona's  smiles  appear, 


FOUNTAIN    ROCK.  23 

To  promise  plenty  to  tlie  year ; 

And  green-clad  growth  with  noiseless  tread, 

Glides  easy  o'er  each  flowery  bed, 

Leads  by  the  hand  luxuriance  wild, 

Xor  cares  to  check  her  wayward  child  ; 

And  luscious  fruits  of  every  hue, 

The  blushing  peach,  the  damson  blue, 

The  gage,  the  ripe  and  juicy  pear, 

Low  drooping  boughs  inviting  bear. 

And  there,  too,  stands  the  rude  old  bower — 

The  cool  retreat  in  sunny  hour ; 

"Where  vines,  thick  woven  overhead, 

Throw  all  within  in  mystic  shade. 

Here,  sheltered  from  the  fervid  noon, 

That  browns  the  brow  of  ruddy  June, 

With  rested  cheek  I've  often  sate, 

And  mused  upon  my  doubtful  fate ; 

And  I  have  thought  'twere  better  far, 

Vv'T 
When  passion  /aged  her  frantic  war, 

With  life  still  young  to  sound  retreat, 
To  fly  her  fierce  meridian  heat, 
And  for  a  refuge  seek  to  find 
The  bower  of  the  tranquil  mind. 


24  FOUNTAIN    ROCK. 

IX. 

~Now  let  me  to  the  fancy  yield, 
And  seek  the  golden  harvest  field ; 
Where,  reclined  in  pleasant  shade, 
By  a  spreading  locust  made, 
Wooing  the  uncertain  breeze, 
That,  whispering  among  the  trees, 
Full  freighted  comes  from  green,  retreat 
"With  wild  herbs'  perfume,  fresh  and  sweet, 
As  of  yore,  with  eye  serene, 
I  contemplate  the  busy  scene — 
The  rolling  slopes  of  ripened  grain, 
Like  the  gently  swelling  main, 
On  whose  edge  the  sturdy  troop, 
To  the  rustling  treasure  stoop ; 
And  hum  of  distant  voices  hear, 
Sweetly  droning  on  the  ear; 
Or  the  cradles'  crashing  sweep, 
That  in  a  measured  cadence  keep, 
While  in  rear  the  rustic  train, 
Tent  with  yellow  shocks  the  plain . 


FOUNTAIN    ROCK.  25 


From  tliis  fair  scene,  where  labor  browned, 
"With  plenty's  golden  wreath  is  crowned, 
I  half  reluctant  turn  away, 
Through  other  cherished  haunts  to  stray. 
But  fierce  the  noon-tide  fervor  glows. 

O 

And  yon  oak-grove  with  wide  spread  boughs 
For  me  a  rural  bower  has  made, 
And  calls  me  to  enjoy  its  shade. 
Here  scathless  from  the  storms  of  years, 
A  massy  rock  its  form  uprears, 
Crowned  with  rank  growth  of  weeds,  and  grass, 
And  vines,  that  in  a  tangled  mass 
Hang  o'er  its  rough  and  frowning  face, 
Down  to  the  cleft  that  rends  its  base; 
From  whose  dark  jaws,  with  constant  gush. 
Bright  silvery  streams  of  water  rush, 
And  fill,  with  sweetly  murmuring  sound, 
The  leafy  nooks  that  lie  around. 
Wearied,  I  reach  this  gelid  spring, 
Upon  whose  mossy  brink,  I  fling 
Myself  at  easy  length,  or  lave 
My  limbs  in  its  refreshing  wave. 
9, 


26  FOUNTAIN    ROCK. 

Sweet  stream!   how  much  to  thee  I  owe! 
Along  thy  current's  gentle  flow, 
With  all  of  youth's  keen  zest,  I'd  fain 
Indulge  in  childhood's  sports  again ; 
Launch  pigmy  ships  upon  the  tide, 
Thy  tiny  waves  in  state  to  ride, 
As  sails  that  sweep  the  ocean  wide. 
Or  light,  from  rock  to  rock  I'd  hound, 
O'er  gurgling  runnels  eddying  round, 
Or  watch  the  little  fish  that  swim 
Around  thy  mossy  margin's  rim. 

XI. 

Sweet  Fountain  Rock!  where'er  I  stray, 
My  heart  to  thee  still  finds  its  way, 
Still  in  each  cherished  scene  delays, 
And  all  my  favorite  haunts  portrays. 
Child  as  I  was,  yet  still  to  me 
There  was  a  magic  witchery 
In  the  unfrequented  dell, 
Where  holy  quiet  loves  to  dwell, 
In  the  dark  and  lonely  glen, 
With  Meditation  far  from  men  ; 
Now  leaving  noisy  Mirth  behind, 


FOUNTAIN    ROCK.  27 

O'er  Autumn's  sun-browned  hills  to  wind, 

Aiion  with  fancy  for  my  guide, 

To  thread  the  streamlet's  sedgy  side, 

Or  hold  in  yonder  sombre  wrood, 

A  parlance  sweet  with  solitude. 


XII. 


Dear  spot,  alas  !   for  me  no  more 
Shall  Spring  thy  vernal  bloom  restore ; 
Thy  Summer  charms  shall  bud  and  die, 
But  greet  no  more  my  longing  eye ; 
Thy  Autumn's  bracing  breeze  shall  be 
Surcharged  with  health,  but  not  for  me; 
For  now  thy  wide  and  smiling  lands 
Have  passed  into  a  stranger's  hands, 
And  years  have  flown,  life's  brightest — best, 
Since  thy  sweet  fields  my  steps  have  pressed. 
Yet  though  no  parents  kind  are  there, 
To  raise  for  me  a  pious  prayer, 
Or  Winter  evenings  to  employ 
In  thinking  of  their  absent  boy, 
Xor  kindred  hearts  impatient  burn 
To  hail  the  wanderer's  return; 
Yet  home  I  must  regard  thee  still, 


28  FOUNTAIN    ROOK. 

Though  strangers  now  thy  portals  fill; 
Though  now,  within  thy  saddened  hall, 
Strange  voices  speak — strange  footsteps  fall ; 
For  there  is  home  where  most  we  find 
To  sooth  and  satisfy  the  mind, 
Whether  it  in  the  present  lie, 
Or  in  the  fields  of  memory. 

XIII. 

When  life's  short  race  shall  ended  be, 
And  naught  but  dust  remains  of  me, 
That  mouldering  dust  I'd  fain  have  laid 
In  thy  green  grave-yard's  quiet  shade. 
And  though  no  sculptured  stone  relate, 
"Here  sleep  the  ashes  of  the  great" — 
Yet  flowers  as  fair  will  o'er  me  bloom 
As  ever  decked  a  hero's  tomb. 
And  to  my  humble,  lowly  grave — 
A  boast  the  mighty  seldom  have — 
Oft  when  gray  evening's  dusky  wing, 
Its  shadow  o'er  the  spot  shall  fling, 
Some  loyal  heart  shall  come  to  spend 
An  hour's  vigils  with  his  friend. 
But  not  the  tears  of  grief  alone 


FOUNTAIN    BOCK.  29 

Shall  fall  upon  the  nameless  stone  ; 

Like  dews  that  weep  at  summer  e'en, 

Yet  gem  with  light  the  lonely  green, 

The  bitterest  drops  that  spring  from  woe 

Shall  find  some  sweetness  as  they  flow, 

And  hope,  with  joy,  her  dose  ally, 

Shall  glisten  in  the  mourner's  eye, 

When  angels  seem  to  whisper  near, 

That  in  a  better — brighter  sphere, 

Friends  meet  once  more,  though  parted  here. 


II. 
AMY   WIEB. 


AMY   WIER. 


This  is  the  dear  old  spot ! 

So  little  changed,  too,  with  these  fleeting  years. 
Life  seems  a  dream — a  thing  forgot, 
With  all  its  hopes  and  fears. 


IT. 

My  heart  as  then  is  stirred, 
When  long  ago  one  summer  evening,  I 

This  leafy  stream's  low  music  heard, 
As  it  went  rippling  by. 

m. 

And  o'er  yon  fleecy  pile, 

As  sheds  the  round  moon  now  her  pearly  light. 
Just  such  a  heavenly  radiant  smile, 

She  gave  to  that  sweet  night. 
2*  2 


34  AMY    WIER. 

IV. 

Thus  standing  here  again, 
I  fall  to  musing  on  our  childhood's  years, 
A  throng  of  joys  for  every  pain ! 
Smiles  ever  chasing  tears ! 

v. 

Our  childhood's  years,  I  said, 
For  with  my  own,  another  image  came, 
That  of  a  little  brown-haired  maid, 
Amy,  her  simple  name. 

VI. 

Life  like  a  lake  did  lie, 

No  breath  of  passion  stirred  its  waters  then, 
A  youth  of  fourteen  summers  I, 
She  but  a  child  of  ten. 

vn. 

But  as  my  Amy  grew, 

And  passed  from  youth  to  thoughtful  woman 
hood, 

Born  in  my  breast  a  passion  new, 
Rose  like  an  April  flood. 


AMY    WIER.  35 

vm. 

Yet  by  no  word  of  mine, 
Or    look    that    might    a    loving    thought    make 

known, 

Sought  I  to  let  her  heart  divine 
The  secret  of  my  own. 

IX. 

For  if  I  e'er  began, 

Honor  would  check  me  with  a  stern  reproof; 
Her  father  was  my  guardian, 
And  I,  beneath  his  roof, 

x. 

But  love,  like  light,  its  track 
Breaks  through  the  cold  clear  ice  of  self-control, 
Its  subtile  signals,  darting  back 
And  forth,  from  soul  to  soul. 

XI. 

And  thus,  whate'er  might  seem, 
By  sense  refined  each  heart  the  other  knew, 
While  silently  as  in  a  dream, 
Love's  golden  season  flew, 


36  AMY    WIER. 

XII. 

Till  by  and  by,  the  hour 
Of  parting  came,  and  I  was  sent  away, 

At  learning's  source  to  gather  store. 
Life's  sterner  part  to  play. 

XIII. 

And  thus  some  seasons  fled, 
When   homeward   bound  I  found   myself  once 

more; 

"While  with  a  mingled  hope  and  dread, 
My  heart  was  running  o'er. 

XIV. 

At  length  the  house  I  neared — 
Moonlight  and  shadow  on  each  angled  wall — 
And  sounds  of  merry  music  heard, 
Within  the  lighted  hall. 

xv. 

Some  tongues  there'll  always  be, 
With  good  or  bad  intent  ill  news  to  bear, 

And  such  there  now  were  near  to  me, 
To  whisper  in  my  ear. 


AMY    WIER.  37 

XVI. 

Another's  name,  not  mine, 
They  told  me  that  my  Amy  soon  would  bear, 
With  orange  blossoms  he'd  entwine 
My  Amy's  nut-brown  hair. 

XVII. 

Stunned  by  the  sudden  blow, 
That  crushed  the  fabric  hope  had  reared  so  high, 
I  would  have  given  the  world  to  know, 
That  moment  I  could  die. 

xviir. 

'Twas  but  a  moment  though, 
And  then  I  cast  the  impious  thought  from  mo; 
"Teach  me,  my  God,"  I  cried,  "to  bow 
My  soul  to  thy  decree." 

XIX. 

How  wonderful  the  peace 
That  in  an  instant  sometimes  answers  prayer, 
Thus  in  my  heart  could  not  but  cease, 
The  promptings  of  despair. 


38  AMY    WIER. 

XX. 

Yet  throbbed  with  keenest  pain, 
That  cruel  wound,  time's  balm  alone  could  lied, 
For  though  my  heart  might  not  complain, 
It  could  not  cease  to  feel. 

XXI. 

Thus,  in  more  tranquil  mind, 
I  sought  the  brook-side  sheltered  by  this  wood, 
For  wounded  spirits  ever  find 
Solace  in  solitude. 

XXII. 

And  sadly  here  I  sat, 

Though  fresh  as  now  the  velvet  verdure  grew, 
And  seemed,  all  earth  to  saturate, 
The  breath  of  evening  dew. 

XXIII. 

\ 

Ah !  I  remember  well, 

Death,  than  that  day,  could  not  more  cruel  be, 
Whose  vesper  hour  had  tolled  the  knell 
Of  earthly  joys  for  me. 


AMY    WIER.  39 

XXIV. 

Tims,  then,  revealed  to  none, 
Must  lie  the  secret  of  my  heart's  disease, 
Nor  dared  I,  save  when  thus  alone, 
To  utter  words  like  these : 

XXV. 

"Farewell!  dear  Amy  Wier, 
Farewell !  forever  art  thou  lost  to  me — 

Lost,  though  no  time  can  ever  tear 
Thee  from  my  memory. 

XXVI. 

"  I  might  have  won  thy  love, 
This   night,    perhaps,    my    bride    thou    miglit'st 

have  been, 

But  where  the  right  could  not  approve, 
I  would  not  wish  to  win." 

XXVII. 

The  word  I  scarce  had  said, 
When  well-nigh  froze  the  current  of  my  blood, 
For  there  her  father  and  the  maid, 
All  breathing  near  me  stood. 


40  AMY    WIEB. 

XXVIII. 

"  Well  done,  indeed,  my  boy ! 
Right  nobly  done!"   with  warmth  the  old  man 

cried, 

"That  gold  hath  surely  no  alloy, 
By  fire  that's  purified. 

XXIX. 

"  Its  right  arm  Heaven  assures, 
To  pilot  him  whose  course  is  just  and  true  ; 
My  daughter's  heart  was  always  yours, 
So  shall  her  hand  be  too. 

XXX. 

"While  stand  the  heavens  and  earth. 
In  time's  hand- writ  ing  shall  the  record  live — 
God's  bounty  can,  than  honest  worth, 
No  nobler  title  give." 

XXXI. 

The  rising  tear  repressed, 
Yet  might  the  beating  of  my  heart  be  heard, 
I  drew  my  Amy  to  my  breast, 
Without  a  spoken  word. 


AMY    WIER.  41 

XXXII. 

And  many  a  day  has  flown, 
And  nuicli  of  sunshine  rested  on  my  life, 
For  Amy  she  has  been  my  own, 
My  joy — my  hope — my  wife. 

XXXIII. 

And  blessed  'tis  again, 
After  long  years  in  this  dear  spot  to  be, 

With  heart  no  older  grown  than  then, 
For  Amy  sits  by  me. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


ELOISE.  45 


ELOISE. 

ROUNDED  form  of  faultless  mould, 
Such,  in  marble  chaste  and  cold, 
Wrought  the  master  hands  of  old. 

O'er  each  temple's  swelling  sphere, 
Casting  dreamy  shadows  there, 
Flow  the  tresses  of  her  hair, 

As  waves  their  sister  waves  pursue; 
!S"or  brown,  nor  flaxen  is  their  hue, 
But  of  a  shade  between  the  two. 

Deeply  blue  as  Tuscan  skies, 
Are  her  quiet,  thoughtful  eyes — 
Orbs  like  Eve's  in  Paradise. 

Fresh  her  cheek,  but  coldly  fair ; 
Blush — if  ever — faint  and  rare, 
Flits  like  summer  lightning  there. 


ELOISE. 

Little  dotli  her  face  disclose — • 

Beautiful,  but  in  repose — 

Of  the  wealth  her  nature  knows. 

Lava  fires  undying  glow 

In  unfathomed  depths  below. 

Curtained  by  a  wall  of  snow. 

Gentle  is  she  as  a  dove, 

But  by  nature  formed  to  move 

Queen  o'er  all  the  realms  of  love. 

A  crown  of  constancy  she  wears, 

As  Blanc's  cold  heights,  a  thousand  years, 

Have  pointed  to  the  starry  spheres. 


A    SERENADE,  47 


A    SEKE1STADE. 

ASLEEP,  art  thou,  dearest,  and  dreaming  of  me  ? 
Or  liear'st  tliou  my  song  as  it  floats  up  to  tliee  ? 
Let  thy  hand  gently  loosen  thy  lattice,  and 

prove 
That  thy  heart  is  awake  to  the  call  of  thy  love. 

Not  of  gold,  nor  broad  lands,  to  my  darling  I 

sing, 
But  devotion  the  warmest  and  truest  I  brine:  ; 

o  " 

No  language  so  glowing,  no  music  so  rare, 
A  love  can  depict,  that  with  mine  can  compare. 

How  radiant   and  pure   shine  the   stars   in   the 


While  the  great  sleeping  earth  in  deep  shadow 

doth  lie; 

But  purer  and  deeper  than  either,  must  be 
The  passion  that  dwells  in  this  bosom  for  thee. 


il  1 


48  A    SERENADE. 

Come,  dearest,  enrobed  in  thy  mantle  of  snow, 
A  glimpse  of  thy  form  on  thy  lover  bestow  ; 
One  wave  of  thy  hand,  and  no  longer  alone, 
His  soul  shall  go  forth  to  unite  with  thine  own. 


GERALDINE.  49 


GEEALDIHE. 

A    SIESTA. 

IT  happened — shall  I  e'er  forget? 

One  day  that  my  yonng  bride — 
My  own,  my  charming  Geraldine, 

Sat  sewing  by  my  side. 

The  afternoon  so  lovely  was, 

A  walk  with  her  I  planned  ; 
So  having  laid  her  needle  by, 

"We  went  forth  hand  in  hand. 

And  wand'ring  through  the  grand  old  woods, 

No  words  my  joy  conld  tell, 
I  thought  within  my  soul,  I  ne'er 

Had  loved  her  half  so  well. 
3  4 


50  GERALDINE. 

At  length  we  readied  a  dark  retreat, 

Within  the  wood  that  slept, 
"Where  often  in  our  courting  days, 

The  try  sting  we  had  kept. 

A  fascinating,  fearfully 

Romantic  spot  was  this, 
Upon  the  very  edges  of 

A  dizzy  precipice. 

And  old  fantastic  oaks,  their  arms 
Far  o'er  the  brink  did  throw, 

While  a  thread  of  limpid  water  leaped 
Into  the  gulf  below. 

And  thus  we  stood — I  gazing  with 

Delight  upon  my  dove, 
For  beauty  is  so  precious  in 

The  being  that  we  love. 

When  suddenly  a  step  she  took, 

I  scarce  had  time  to  think ; 
She  stooped  to  pluck  a  flower  that  grew 

Upon  the  fatal  brink. 


GERALDINE.  51 

Transfixed  I  stood — I  could  not  speak, 

2s~or  warning  could  bestow, 
Alas !  I  saw  her  balance  lost, 

She  headlong  fell  below. 

I  shrieked — I  sprang  to  save  her, 

When  wide  awake,  I  saw, 
KT  nose,  the  laughing  Geraldine, 

Was  tickling  with  a  straw. 


52  DARKNESS. 


DARKNESS. 

WHO  hath  not  followed  with  despair — 
Lost  faith,  and  staggered — blind  with  doubt 

Nor  felt  that  there  were  times  when  life's 
Last  joy  seemed  trampled  out? 

From  such  a  wreck  of  ruined  hopes, 
Borne  passive  down  a  sweeping  tide, 

I  turned,  and-  through  the  darkness  climbed 
Far  up  a  mountain  side. 

With  heart  all  crushed  as  were  its  rocks, 
And  cold  as  seemed  its  silent  frown, 

I  stood  above  that  mountain  rift, 
And  saw  the  moon  go  down. 

I  saw  the  moon  go  down,  all  pale 
As  her  own  kiss  upon  a  shroud, 

And  then  I  heard  the  hollow  wind, 
Reverberating  loud. 


DARKNESS.  53 

And  I  was  all  alone — alone. 

Upon  that  mountain  wild  and  bare; 

All !  there  are  times  when  human  hearts 
Will  fellow  with  despair. 


SUMMER    LEAVES. 


SUMMER    LEAVES. 

SUMMER  leaves  are  dying, 

Autumn  winds  are  sighing, 

Heralds  sad  of  winter  drear, 

Howling  round  the  stricken  year. 
Thus,  soon  our  own  short  life  has  flown, 

Youth's  summer  dream  is  o'er  ; 
And  the  heart  grieves  o'er  withered  leaves. 

Of  joys  that  are  no  more — 

Of  joys  that  are  no  more. 


TO    A    TRAVELER.  55 


TO    A    TRAVELER. 

To  wander  o'er  earth's  strange  lands, 

Obedient  to  a  fate, 
That  points  to  some  far  distant  prize, 

Thy  toil  to  compensate; 
To  know  that  they  are  far  away, 

"Who  are  most  dear  to  tliee, 
To  miss  their  gentle,  loving  tones 

Spoken  so  tenderly  ; 
To  feel  an  utter  loneliness, 

Though  mingling  with  a  throng, 
With  nothing  left  but  memory, 

To  feed  thy  heart  upon  ; 
In  thy  lone  journey,  wearied  one ! 

How  sad  thy  soul  must  be, 
With  years  that  like  an  ocean  lie, 

Between  thy  home  and  tliee. 


56  SAN    PABLO. 


SAN    PABLO. 

OH  !   it   is  a  night  of  beauty,  that  hath  drawn 

me  thus  away 
.From  the  glare  of  lighted  chambers,  with  their 

gallant  guests  and  gay ; 
"With  a  tenderness  she  greets  me,  for  the  wind 

is  sweet  and  low, 
And  like  thoughts  that  move  a  quiet  heart,  its 

pulses  come  and  go. 

See!    the    moon    upon    her    cloud-car   rides,    of 

pure  and  pearly  gray, 
Scatt'ring   fragments    of   a    shattered   world    of 

silver  o'er  the  bay, 
And  beyond  the  hills  that  fade  away  as  distance 

swims  between, 
There  the  tall  sierra  through  the  misty  deep  is 

dimly  seen. 


SAN    PABLO.  57 

Like   a  line   of  lurid   lava  glows  the  night-fire 

on  the  strand, 
"While  in   creamy   folds   the   white    smoke    lifts 

itself  above  the  land, 
Till  upon   the  breeze  it  rises  to   a  region   still 

and  clear, 
Hanging  like  a  wide  and  motionless  pavilion  in 

the  air. 


Oh !  it  is  a  night  of  beauty,  for  the  stars  shine 

sweetly  down, 
With  a  quiet  gaze,  as  loving  eyes  have  looked 

into  our  own  ; 
'Tis  a  night  to  charm  the  spirit  with  the  touch 

of  other  years, 
Where  embalmed  lie  youth's  precious  joys  or 

youth's  most  precious  tears. 


With  a  gentle  hand  adown  the   silent  past   slie 

guideth  me, 
As  I  move  among  the  forms  of  things  that  long 

have  ceased  to  be; 
3* 


58  SAN    PABLO. 

And  with  sure,  unerring  footstep  leadeth  to   a 

scene  of  bliss, 
Folded   in   the   quiet   shadows   of  a   night   the 

twin  to  this. 


I  am  standing  by  the  wicket  of  a  cottage,  while 

the  moon 
Throws  her  waste  of  liquid   silver   over   all  the 

leafy  June; 
And  with   happy  smile   a  maiden's  young   and 

joyous  face  is  seen, 
Peeping  ^  through   the    shaded    loopholes   of  the 

ivy's  glittering  green. 


From  that  home  where   sped  her  happy  youth 

in  blest  security, 
With  the  perfect  trust  of  innocence  she  cometh 

forth  to  me ; 
Then  with   half  directed  footsteps  we  go  wan- 

d'ring  through  the  shade 
Of  an  aisle  of  pointed  arches  by  the  lofty  cedars 

made. 


SAX    PABLO.  59 

And  I'm  telling  her  a  tale  of  love  in  earnest 
words,  and  low 

As  the  laugh  of  dimpled  waters  on  their  jour 
ney  as  they  go; 

And  she  listens  without  chiding  me,  nor  bids 
me  to  depart, 

But  comes  trembling  like  a  frighted  bird,  and 
nestles  near  my  heart. 


But  alas !   I  dream ;   the  picture  fast  and  faster 

fades  away, 
And  I  wake  amid  the   solitude   that  wraps   the 

lonely  bay ; 
And  my  heart  will  not  be  comforted,  but  keepp 

its  store  of  love 
For    the    golden    land    that    lieth    there — those 

starry  heights  above. 


60  LINES    AT    SEA. 

LINES    AT    SEA. 

ADDRESSED   TO    MY    DAUGHTER. 

Ox  the  bosom  I'm  borne   of  a    calm   summer 

sea, 

That  seems  to  be  sleeping  as  tranquilly, 
As    though   the   dark   hurricane's  wild    rushing 

sweep, 
Had   ne'er  wakened  to  fury  its  waters  so  deep. 

O'er  these  sweet  peaceful  waters  we  noiselessly 

glide, 

Save  wrhen  a  low  breeze  gently  ripples  the  tide, 
From  the  silvery  crests  of  whose  wavelets  emerge 
The  low  lulling  sounds  of  the  whispering  surge. 

To  the  far  verge  of  ocean  now  wanders  the  eye, 
To  catch  a  faint  image  that  looms  in  the  sky, 
'Tis  a  glimpse  of  the  land,  through  the  distance 

that  smiles, 
Of  the  Florida  coast  with   its   thousand   green 

isles. 


LINES    AT    SEA.  61 

Kow  fades  the  broad  daylight  as  evening  draws 

nigh, 
And  a  single   star  peeps  from  its  home  in  the 


From  its  azure  depths  seeming  a  smile  to  bestow 
On  the  grottos  far  down  in  the  ocean  below. 

And  I'm  thinking,   dear  daughter,  of  thee,  all 

the  while, 
And  the   clear  silvery  radiance  that  beams  in 

thy  smile  ; 
May  thy  spirit  through  life  be  unclouded  and 

free, 
And  in  peaceful  repose,  like  this  calm  summer 

sea. 


62  AGNES. 


AGNES. 

WHY,  poor  heart,  so  prone  to  cover, 

From  each  curious,  searching  eye, 
Faintest  trace  that  might  discover 

What  doth  deepest  in  thee  lie? 
Dost  thou  nurse  a  secret  sorrow — 

Hast  thou  found  a  joy  serene? 
Still  thou  seek'st  from  art  to  borrow 

Means  to  hide  the  fire  within. 

"When  upon  thee  joy  is  stealing, 

Bringing  blissful  ecstacy, 
Close  enshrined,  the  cherished  feeling, 

Cunning  heart,  lies  locked  in  thee. 
Like  the  miser's  hidden  treasure, 

He  so  fondly  gloats  upon, 
Deeper,  sweeter  is  the  pleasure, 

Thus  to  feel  'tis  all  thine  own. 


AGNES. 

When,  poor  bleeding  heart,  expiring 

"With  the  waste  of  hidden  grief, 
Efforts  gentle,  yet  untiring, 

Fail  to  render  thee  relief, 
"Wilt  thou  not,  thyself  revealing, 

Faith  at  last  in  friends  repose? 
Yain  persuasion !  in  concealing, 

Balm  descendeth  on  thy  woes. 


MISERERE. 


MISERERE. 

DOWN  by  the  sea  an  old  man  sat, 

While  on  the  rocks  the  rough  sea  broke. 

"Tell  me,  I  pray,  what  makes  you  look 
So  sad,"  'twas  thus  to  him  I  spoke  ; 

When,  lifting  up  his  silvery  head, 

And  looking  in  my  face,  he  said: 

"Three  years  ago!  alas!  since  then 
How  many  cherished  hopes  have  fled; 

And  griefs  that  passed  like  storm-clouds  by, 
And  rosy  joys  that  now  are  dead — 

Those  joys  and  griefs — a  spectral  throng, 

That  to  the  shadowy  past  belong. 

"  Three  years  ago !  it  seems  a  dream, 
But  one  whose  forms  are  vivid  yet: 

That  day  is  graven  on  rny  heart, 
A  day  I  never  shall  forget ; 


MISERERE.  65 

For  two  were  sitting  by  my  side, 
And  one  of  them  a  plighted  bride. 

"  A  hand  of  each  I  held  in  mine, 
The  union  of  their  hearts  to  bless, 

And  never  shall  I  see  again, 
So  mute  but  full  a  happiness. 

He  noble  was,  she  very  fair, 

And  one — aye  both,  my  children  were. 

u  But  trials  come,  or  soon  or  late, 
To  all  who  walk  this  realm  of  sin, 

He  had  to  struggle  like  the  rest, 
His  fortune  from  the  world  to  win. 

For  this  he  braved  the  stormy  maiii— 

We  never  heard  of  him  again. 

"  For  days — for  months — a  weary  time, 
Along  the  sea-side  would  she  roam, 

And  with  a  deep,  confiding  faith, 

She  prayed  and  watched  for  him  to  come, 

But  by  degrees  she  came  to  know 

The  dreadful  measure  of  her  woe. 
5 


66  MISERERE. 

"  To  the  sea-side  she  went  no  more, 
But  meekly  strove  to  meet  her  fate, 

And  with  the  same  sweet  grace  performed 
The  simple  duties  of  her  state  ; 

Through  all  that  weary  age  of  pain, 

I  never  knew  her  to  complain. 

"Three  days  ago,  a  fresh-raised  mound 
Of  earth,  I  saw  with  weeping  eyes. 

I  try  the  mournful  truth  to  hide, 
But  in  my  heart  this  record  lies  : 

O'er  him  now  rolls  the  sullen  wave, 

She  fills  a  maiden's  early  grave." 


NANNIE    DARLING.  67 


NANNIE    DA  KLIN  G. 

NANNIE  darling!  Nannie  darling! 

Ever  blessed  be  tins  day, 
That  liatli  brought  us  to  the  altar, 

And  thus  given  thee  away. 

That  hath  placed  thee  in  my  keeping ; 

"While  my  life  blood  courses  warm, 
Thee  to  comfort,  thee  to  cherish, 

And  to  shield  from  every  harm. 

Ah!  that  eve  I  well  remember, 
In  the  full  leafed  summer  time, 

When  the  dew  was  on  the  flowers 
Blooming  round  us  in  their  prime. 

Then  'twas  in  the  tender  moonlight, 
"With  my  hand  close  grasping  thine, 

In  my  face  you  looked  so  fondly, 
As  you  promised  to  be  mine. 


68  NANNIE    DARLING. 

And  those  days  were  bright  and  happy, 
When  the  autumn  time  drew  near, 

When  the  yellow  leaves  were  falling, 
When,  the  corn  was  in  the  ear. 

When  we  roamed  beside  the  river, 
Heeding  not  how  it  might  run, 

Thinking  only  of  the  precious 

Time,  when  we  two  would  be  one. 

'Twas  the  same  in  piercing  winter, 

Or  when  oped  the  budding  spring- 
In  the  joy  our  hearts  were  nestling 
That  this  blessed  day  would  bring. 

Yes,  my  darling,  darling  Nannie ! 

Ever  blessed  be  this  day, 
That  hath  brought  us  to  the  altar, 

And  thus  given  thee  away. 

In  the  summer — in  the  autumn — 
In  the  winter — in  the  spring, 

I  have  loved  my  darling  Nannie, 
Best  of  every  earthly  thing. 


NANNIE    DARLING.  09 

Through  the  long  years  will  I  love  her — 
Till  the  end  of  life  shall  be — 

Till  the  moss  is  on  my  grave-stone — 
Aye  !  for  all  eternity  ! 


70  OH!    WOULD    I    WERE 


OH!    WOULD    I    W  E  E  E    WIT  II 
THEE    FOREVEK! 

OH!  would  I  were  with  tliee  forever, 

Oli !  would  that  we  never  might  part, 
That  the  joy  that  now  thrills  me  might  ever 

Fill  up  every  vein  of  my  heart. 
I  have  traveled  the  fairy  world  over, 

I  have  tasted  of  many  a  bliss, 
But  'twas  madness  to  hope  to  discover 

The  wealth  of  a  moment  like  this. 

Fate  might  point  to  the  hour  with  her  finger, 

That  should  tear  me  asunder  from  thee, 
Yet  my  spirit  would  near  thee  still  linger, 

And  laugh  at  the  harmless  decree. 
But  no  fancies  like  these  will  I  cherish, 

Kor  fear  the  sweet  dream  will  not  last-- 
That  the  bliss  of  this  moment  will  perish, 

Or  live  but  a  dream  of  the  past. 


WITH    THEE    FOREVER!  71 

Xo !  enough  that  I  know  thou  art  near  me, 

Enough  that  I  feel  thou  art  mine — 
As  you  gaze  in  my  face,  that  you  hear  me, 

In  accents  responding  to  thine. 
Then  away  with  the  future  before  me, 

Like  a  syren  still  singing  of  bliss, 
Xot  the  breadth  of  all  time  can  allure  me, 

While  I  live  in  a  moment  like  this. 


72  THE    TWO    VIOLETS. 


THE     TWO    VIOLETS. 

A    DKEAM. 

As  by  a  murmuring  stream  I  lay, 

Upon  a  shrubby  knoll, 
Soothed  by  the  balmy  breath  of  May, 

Sweet  languor  o'er  me  stole. 

The  bees'  low  hum,  the  leafy  shade 
In  stillness  seemed  to  steep, 

While  drowsy  zephyrs  o'er  me  played. 
And  whispered  me  to  sleep. 

And  as  with  fancies  oddly  knit, 
My  wandering  senses  teemed, 

I  lost  me  in  their  mazy  flight, 
And  thus  it  was  I  dreamed: 


THE    TWO    VIOLETS.  73 

Methought  two  violets,  side  by  side, 

Bloomed  in  a  valley  low ; 
In  golden  purple  one  was  dyed, 

And  one  was  white  as  snow. 

The  dews  that  on  them  lightly  lie, 

The  beams  of  heaven  disperse, 
While  thus  in  friendly  colloquy, 

The  gentle  pair  converse  : 

"Fair  sister,"  quoth  the  purple  flower, 

"I'll  tell  thee  why  I  fled 
The  gorgeous  domes  of  pride  and  power, 
And  sought  this  quiet  shade. 

"In  ancient  days,  Rome  foremost  stood 

In  science,  arts,  and  laws, 
Pleading,  in  her  patrician  blood, 

The  mind's  triumphant  cause. 

"  'Twas  here,  where  Tiber's  waters  flow 
Through  banks  with  olives  crowned, 

And  groves  of  citron  trees,  that  throw 
Their  odorous  sweets  around. 


t  THE    TWO    VIOLETS. 

"  I  first  upon  tlie  earth  appeared, 

An  emblem  fair,  designed 
To  show  that  here  the  gods  had  reared 

The  garden  of  the  mind. 


"  For  no  plebeian  might  appear 

In  garb  of  purple  hue, 
While  from  the  royal  robe  I  wear, 

Its  tint  the  toga  drew. 

ullere  Learning's  midnight  lamp  was  fed 
In  broad-browed  Wisdom's  cell, 

While  Folly,  oft  rebuked,  had  fled, 
In  wilder  climes  to  dwell. 

"And  Greatness  then  had  reached  the  goal 

That  mortals  might  attain — 
A  lofty  nobleness  of  soul, 

More  fitting  gods  than  men. 


e 


"  But  when  corrupt  the  state  had  grown, 

And  Luxury  forged  a  chain 
To  drag  the  shaft  of  Virtue  down, 

That  propped  her  golden  reign, 


THE    TWO    VIOLETS. 

"Home  yielded  to  the  odious  thrall 

That  Sloth  about  her  threw, 
And  Jove,  offended  at  her  fall, 

His  tutelage  withdrew. 

"  The  bad«re  of  Greatness  ceased  to  erace 

*— ^  o 

The  broad  and  lofty  brow, 

And  Honor  lifted  to  her  place 

The  grov'ling  and  the  low. 

"And  from  that  hour,  the  great  of  mind 

Retired  from  city  strife, 
Happy  in  rural  peace  to  find 

The  cordial  balm  of  life. 

"And  I,  the  mind's  pure  emblem  flower, 
Alike  from  crowds  withdrew, 

To  bud  and  bloom  from  that  same  hour, 
In  sweet  seclusion  too. 

"Pray  tell  me,  fairer  sister,  now, 

Why  in  this  dreary  shade, 
In  plain  attire  delightest  thou 

To  hide  thy  gentle  head?" 


76  THE    TWO    VIOLETS. 

Pausing,  the  other  thus  replied : 

"  Sister,  our  fates  are  one  ; 
To  bloom  unnoticed  side  by  side, 

Where  crime  and  tumult  shun. 

"  Emblem  of  white-robed  purity, 

My  spotless  petals  tell 
That  where  the  wild  wind  wanders  free, 

Fair  Virtue  loves  to  dwell. 

"That  where  fresh  fields  and  woods  wave  green, 

And  purling  streamlets  roll, 
The  winning  charms  alone  are  seen, 

That  catch  the  ingenuous  soul. 

"A  truth  we  thus  to  man  impart, 

That  oft'nest  will  he  find, 
The  noble  mind,  the  virtuous  heart, 

In  rural  life  combined/ 


" 


Just  then,  a  storm  o'ercast  the  day, 
And  rolled  the  thunder  deep, 

And  as  the  vision  swam  away, 
I  started  from  my  sleep. 


THE    TWO    VIOLETS.  7? 

But  ere  I  shelter  sought  to  find, 

Beneath  yon  hawthorn's  shade, 
I  reasoned  thus  within  my  niind, 

And  these  reflections  made. 

"With  various  views  while  all  mankind 

On  happiness  are  bent, 
Striving  with  restless  heat  to  find 

A  haven  of  content, 

My  standard  I  have  fixed  so  low, 

And  yet  withal  so  high, 
Methinks  that  Heaven  may  still  bestow 

The  blessing  ere  I  die. 

Give  me  a  mind  with  wisdom  blest, 

A  goodly  stock  of  health, 
A  warm,  true  heart  within  my  breast, 

And  competence,  not  wealth. 

With  these,  and  those  sweet,  simple  joys 

That  rural  charms  supply, 
In  some  sweet  nook  removed  from  noise, 

I'd  wish  to  live  and  die. 


78  OH,  WOULD   I   WERE    FEEEI 


O  H  ,  W  O  U  L  D    I    WEEE    FKEE! 

"On,  would   I  were  free!"   with  what  fervent 

expression, 
This  thought  gushes  up  from  the  wells  of  the 

heart, 

Or  holds  of  its  chambers  a  silent  possession, 
Ne'er  in  life's  weary  lease  from  its  tenure  to 
part. 

Methinks  in   the  eye    of  that   winged   prisoner 

yonder, 

A  look  of  sweet  pitiful  pleading  I  see, 
And    the  song  he  is   singing  so   plaintive   and 

tender, 

Tells  his  captive  heart's  longing  "  Oh,  would 
I  were  free!" 


OH,    WOULD   I   WERE    FREE!  79 

"  Oil,   would   I   were   free !"   sighs   with   earnest 

emotion, 
The    school-boy    as    out    from   his   prison    he 

peers 
O'er  the  fields  and  the  woods   from   the   breeze 

all  in  motion, 
And  in  the  wild  vesture  that  liberty  wears. 

When   far  from   his   mistress,  thus   speaks,   too, 

the  lover, 
While  the  star  of  the  evening   sheds   on  him 

its  ray, 
"  Oh !   would   that   the   days   of  my   exile   were 

over, 
That  with  joy  I  might  break  from  my  fetters 


And  the  wand'rer  that  has  from  his  loved  ones 

been  parted, 

Between  them  long  years  and  the  great  heav 
ing  sea, 

Awakes  at  the  dead  of  the  night  broken-hearted, 
And  weeps  on  his  pillow,  "  Oh,  would  I  were 
free!" 


80  Oil,    WOULD    I   WERE    FREE! 

Alas !  every  creature  from  Adam  descended, 
Of  lowly  estate  or  exalted  degree, 

As  the  price  to  tlie  boon  of  existence  appended, 
Feels    the   clasp    of  some   fetter   from   whicl; 
he'd  be  free. 

Then  patience,  good  brother!  Time's  waters  are 

healing, 

And  every  affliction  that  grieves  us  can  cure, 
But  'tis  just  when  he  pleases,  his  gifts  he'll  be 

dealing, 
So  let  us  be  valiant  and  learn  to  endure. 

Unwise    'tis    to   wish    Time's    swift    pinions    to 

hasten, 

For  sooner,  perhaps,  than  we'd  will  it  to  be, 
Death,  that  punctual  old  turnkey,  will  come  to 

unfasten 
The  doors  of  our  prison,  and  set  us  all  free. 


LIFE.  '    81 


LIFE. 


FINIS    COKONAT   OPUS." 


As  tranquil  joy  to  hearts  long  hopeless,  so 
A  golden  sunset  ends  a  day  of  storms ; 

And  gay  the  craft  on  polar  seas  sore  tost, 
Whose  sails  at  last  a  rosy  summer  warms. 

O  happy  life!  in  roughest  pathways  tried, 

Whose    steps    at    eve  through    peaceful  valleys 
glide. 

"  Promise,"  above  the  cradle  where  he  slept, 
Was  writ  in  characters  of  glowing  light ; 

Then  happy,  laughing  childhood  came,  and  then 
A  youth  of  beauty  crowned  with  all  delight ; 

And  twenty  blooming  summers,  joining  hands. 

Led  him  at  last  to  manhood's  shining  lands. 
4*  6 


82  LIF'E. 

On  dewy  mound  as  stands  a  stag  at  morn, 
Snuffs  the  fresh  mountain  air  and  glances  o'er 

His  boundless  range  of  hazel,  so  with  eye 
Dilated,  and  all  eager  to  explore 

The  future's  glimmering  vista,  once  he  stood, 

While  hope  and  faith  stirred  in  his  ardent  blood. 

Then  forth  into  the  world's  wide  lists  he  stepped, 
With  life's  grim  foes  to  battle  face  to  face, 

Or,  doffing  casque  and  lance,  with  agile  feet 
To  struggle  with  the  swiftest  in  the  race  ; 

Till,  as  on  easy  pinions  of  the  wind, 

He  led  the  field  and  left  all  far  behind. 

Fortune  with  ready  hand  her  treasures  heaped, 
And  strewed  them  broadcast  in  his  path,  and 
fame, 

Loud  paeans  singing,  crowned  his  browT  with  bays, 
And  on  a  flood  of  honor  bore  his  name ; 

Till  incense,  flung  from  censers  swinging  wide, 

Seemed  without  perfume  to  his  sated  pride. 

Tli en  for  a  time  he  grasped  the  flying  mane 
Of  pleasure,  vaulted  on  the  frantic  steed, 


LIFE.  83 

And  skimmed  the  edges  of  her  dizzy  track ; 
Till  love — the  crowned  queen — stayed  his  wild 

speed, 

And  turned  his  courser  with  a  gentle  hand, 
To  the  sweet  pastures  of  her  flowery  land. 

In  sunny  lustre  lies  the  home  of  love, 
Connubial  love,  to  holy  flame  akin, 
Where  joy  forever  on  the  threshold  smiles, 
And    peace    and     sweet     contentment     dwell 

within, 

And  warm  delights,  but  pure  as  summer  rain; 
Where   passions    rude    for    entrance     knock    in 
vain. 

Here,  with  his  other  self,  and  offspring  fair, 

All  gathered  round  him  in  that  rare  retreat, 
He  had  his  dream— forgetful  of  the  years 

O  v 

That  came  and  glided  by  with  noiseless  feet 
O  mortal  joy !  thy  roots  all  shallow  lie  ; 
When  blooming  fairest,  doomed  alway  to  die. 

As  a  low  wind  first  ripples  o'er  a  lake, 
Then,  piping  on  the  mountain's  piny  comb, 


84:  LIFE. 

Sweeps  down  the  rocky  gorge,  a  roaring  "blast, 

And  lashes  the  chafed  waters  to  a  foam  ; 
So  bursts  at  once  in  dark  and  stormy  strife, 
Its  first  wild  grief  upon  a  joyful  life. 

A  babe  was  born,  but  with  its  first  faint  cry, 
O  God!  the  mother  passed  from  earth  away; 

Then  sudden  night  came  down  upon  his  soul, 
An  icy  darkness  shutting  out  all  day  ; 

As  if  the  living  sun,  struck  dead  in  space, 

Had  left  but  one  pale  star  to  fill  its  place. 

All  listless  lay  the  sullen  sands  of  life 

As  grain  by  grain  they  fell.     A  single  day 

Had  touched  with  death  the  very  face  of  time ; 
While  seasons  all  unheeded  lapsed  away ; 

A  pulseless  pause  hung  round  the  rolling  years, 

And  brooded  o'er  a  grief  too  deep  for  tears. 

So,  soon  or  late,  to  ashes  crumble  all 

The  shrines  where  men  their  dearest  treasures 
trust ; 

We  build  on  frailty  and  the  fabric  falls; 
We  grasp  the  apple  but  to  find  it  dust. 


LIFE  85 

And  does  this  poor,  unprofitable  strife 
To  nothing  lead?     Is  this  the  end  of  life? 

Not  so;  it  spins  a  thread  beyond  the  grave, 
That  links  it  fast  to  the  eternal  years ; 

Yet  seems  a  short,  imperfect  fragment  here, 
Till  through  the  mists  of  death  it  reappears, 

And  shows,  at  last,  the  great  Creator's  plan 

Of  endless  glory  for  his  creature  man. 

And  he,  of  whom  these  lines  make  record  brief, 
Long  prostrate  lay,  nor  strove  again  to  rise: 

First  on  his  spirit  broke  a  feeble  light, 
Then  fell  the  holy  glow  of  evening  skies; 

And  resignation,  bringing  peace  and  rest, 

Folded  her  wings  and  nestled  in  his  breast. 

As  helmsman  bold  the  breakers  who  hath  braved, 
Looketh  not  back  upon  the  dangers  past, 

Nor  farther  in  where  sleeps  the  sunny  shore, 
But  seaward  points  his  steady  prow  at  last; 

So  gained  the  good  old  man  the  open  sea, 

Whose  waters  mingled  with  eternity. 


80        THE    DOG    AND    THE    CKOCODILE. 


THE  DOG  AND  THE  CEOCODILE 

SPANISH   FABLE. 

A  KIISTD,  considerate  crocodile, 
Lay  sunning  in  his  favorite  Nile; 
As  by  the  margin  of  the  river — 
To  quench  his  thirst,  or  cool  his  liver — 
A  cur  discreet,  like  master  man, 
Lapped  the  sweet  water  as  he  ran. 
The  cayman — oily  chap — cried  out, 
"My  friend,  what  canst  thou  be  about? 
Such  haste  shows  plainly  some  delusion, 
Most  hifrtful  to  thy  constitution." 
Dash  still  kept  on,  but  spoke  thus  wise: 
"  Thanks  for  your  very  kind  advice ; 
But  I've  a  silly  sort  of  notion, 
I'd  rather  die  of  too  much  motion, 
Than  suffer  you  to  solve  the  question, 
If  I  be  fit  for  your  digestion." 


AN"    EVENING    SKETCH.  87 


AN    EVENING    SKETCH. 

OH!  what  a  marvellous  perfection,  hath 
Tliis  summer  eve  put  on !  with  subtle  glide 
It  penetrates  the  soul,  infusing  there 
A  sense  supreme  of  nature's  peerless  power. 
The  cumbrous  harness  of  life's  dusty  way, 
Falls  at  its  touch;  cares  in  oblivion  sink, 
And  the  freed  spirit  seems  on  rushing  wings, 
Rising  through  regions  of  the  beautiful, 
To  catch  some  glimpses  of  its  promised  home. 
Low  in  the  western  sky,  the  sun  hath  sunk 
Behind  a  gorgeous  pyramid  of  clouds, 
In  purple  robed,  and  edged  with  liquid  gold ; 
And  while  upon  the  sweet  and  quiet  earth, 
That  lies  below,  a  softened  shadow  falls, 
Some  glittering  lights  still  touch  the  lofty  spire, 
That  mounts  above  the  old  cathedral's  dome. 
Time-honored  pile !  grey  with  the  mould  of  years, 
In  venerable  grandeur  rooted  there, 


88  AN    EVENING    SKETCH. 

Like  some  bold  beacon  formed  by  nature's  Land 
In  earth's  young  days,  when  the  old  hills  were 

born. 
Hark !   as  from  vasty  lungs,   a  voice  speaks 

out, 

In  full,  deep  measured  tones  of  earnestness. 
For  on  the  air — that  seems  to  gather  in 
From  far  and  near,  the  myriad  sounds  of  earth, 
And  mingle  them  in  one  low,  droning  hum — 
Solemn  and  deep  the  vesper  bell  sends  forth 
Its  summons  to  the  children  of  the  vale. 
And  soon,  obedient  to  the  holy  call, 
They  throng  the  way,  now  singly,  now  in  groups. 
Here  mothers,  smiling  with  maternal  eyes, 
Lead  by  the  hand  their  sinless  little  ones ; 
And  youths  and  maidens  full  of  careless  life, 
And  men  in  prime  of  days,  with  marks  of  care 
Upon  their  brows,  by  turns  come  into  view. 
Others  with  tottering  step,  that  tells  of  age, 
With  the  poor  cripple  and  the  beggar  join, 
And  all  press  forward,  on  one  purpose  bent — 
To  gain  the  gateway  of  the  house  of  God. 
Nor  faded  yet  the  golden  summer  eve! 
A  sweeter  depth  of  beauty  e'en  she  wears. 


AN    EVENING    SKETCH.  89 

But  nature  liatli  no  hold  upon  me  more. 

I  ponder  on  that  wondrous  mystery 

Of  beauty — prayer — that  brightening  track    of 

light, 

Up  which  the  fervent  soul  may  run — may  Hy, 
And  mount  upon  the  wings  of  love,  to  hold 
Communion  with  the  denizens  of  heaven. 

Lift  up  thy  soul  in  grateful  praise,  O  man ! 
That  in  thy  hearts'  deep  sanctuary,  lies 
The  source  supernal  of  a  beauty,  far 
Transcending  all  that  nature  can  bestow ; 
For  nature's  but  a  ray  of  God's  magnificence, 
But  God,  himself,  comes  to  the  soul  in  prayer. 


90  ROSALINDA. 


ROSALINDA. 

ROSALINDA  !  I  love  tliee  and  thou  lovest  me, 
The  spell  it  is  broken — onr  hearts  are  now  free ; 
Free    as    streams    that    through    rock-shrouded 

darkness  have  run, 
To  burst  into  sunlight  and  mingle  in  one. 

Long  the  heart-hidden  mystery  lay  unrevealed, 
And  each  from  the  other  the  secret  concealed; 
For  we  kept  it  enshrined — without  word,  with 
out  look — 

• 

Between  two  silent  natures,  as  in  a  sealed  book. 

With  a  root  in  each  heart,  yet   together  they 

drew, 

To  become  but  one  passion  that  secretly  grew; 
And  in  sunshine  and  darkness,  with  hopes  and 

wTith  fears, 
"We  have  cherished  the  plant  with  the  patience 

of  years. 


ROSALINDA.  91 

Till  at  length  in  mute  language  it   spoke  from 

the  eyes; 
We  have  told   it  in  words,  we  have  breathed 

it  in  sighs ; 

"We  have  rent  the  dull  curtain  that  kept  us  apart, 
And  our  vows  have  been  ratified,  heart  against 

heart. 

Rosalinda!  I  love  thee  and  thou  lovest  me, 
But  the  wealth  of  our  passion  the  world  cannot 

see, 
For  of  all  that's  most  prized  what  is  hidden  is 

best, 
If  unveiled  'twould  eclipse — 'twould  o'ershadow 

the  rest. 

Who  hath  fathomed  the  earth  and  its  treasures 
*  all  told? 

Or  hath  counted  the  gems  its  dark  caverns 
enfold? 

Who  hath  weighed  all  the  gold  in  the  glitter 
ing  rills, 

Or  that's  swelling  the  veins  of  the  rock-hearted 
hills? 


92  ROSALINDA. 

Who  liatli   dreamed  not  of  beauties,  for  vision 

too  bright, 

That  lie  hid  in  yon  fathomless  ocean  of  light  ? 
Or  knows  not  that  yon  little   star  distant   and 

dim, 
Is  a  beautiful  world  lost  forever  to  him? 

Rosalinda !  I  love  thee  and  thou  lovest  me, 
We  are  floating  in  light  other  eyes  cannot  see, 
'Tis  all  darkness  to  them,  yet  to  us  it  appears 
To  illumme  every  path  in  this  valley  of  tears. 


THE  SHADES   OF  SUMMER  EYE.         93 


WHEN   THE    SHADES    OF 
SUMMER    EYE. 


Now  when  the  shades  of  summer  eve  begin  to 

close, 
And  night  to  weary  mortals   soon   shall  bring 

repose, 

The  gentle  stars  shall  shine  on  me, 
And  light  the  path  that  leads  to  thee, 
And  light  the  path  —  light  the   path   that  leads 
to  thee. 

Upon  my   ear,   as  through  the   dewy  woods  I 

hie, 
The  whip-poor-will's  low  liquid  note  falls  plain 

tively, 

Till  love's  low  greeting  welcomes  me, 
"Where  ends  the  path  that  leads  to  thee, 
\Vhere  ends  the  path  —  ends  the  path  that  leads 
to  thee. 


LOST    AT   SEA. 


LOST    AT    SEA. 

FAR  out  upon  tlie  dreary  waste 
Of  ocean  waters,  dark  and  deep, 

Where  boundless  space  embosomed  lies, 
By  silence  nursed  to  sleep : 

Lifted  above  those  awful  depths, 
That  dream  in  endless  night  below, 

Where  stillness  ever  reigns — where  waves 
Break  not,  nor  tempests  blow  ; 

A  solitary  object  swings 

Cpon  the  stately  swelling  sea — 

A  human  creature,  wrestling  with 
A  frightful  destiny. 

A  shattered  spar  he  clings  to,  but 

"With  feeble  hold,  that  drowning  man ; 

The  strong  stout  heart  no  longer  nerves 
His  form,  grown  weak  and  wan. 


LOST   AT    SEA.  95 

Thrice  hath  he  seen  the  sun  come  up, 
And  thrice  sink  down  into  the  sea, 

As  struggling,  life's  frail  hold  to  keep, 
He  nears  eternity. 

Fear's  icy  zone  his  soul  hath  passed, 
Its  terrors  now  bring  no  dismay; 

E'en  hope,  that  for  a  season  cheered 
His  heart,  hath  passed  away. 

Great  God !  can  thought  e'er  comprehend 
The  height  and  depth  of  such  a  woe, 

When  the  spent  flesh  almost  hath  ceased 
Of  suffering  to  know  ? 

Feebly  he  lifts  his  dying  eyes, 
As,  from  the  cold  and  quiet  sea, 

The  moon,  upon  night's  pearly  shell, 
Rises  in  majesty. 

Why  throbs  again  life's  ebbing  tide? 

Why  gleams  that  wild  light  in  his  eye? 
Oil  the  horizon's  glittering  line, 

A  sail  looms  in  the  sky. 


96  LOSTATSEA. 

Nearer  she  comes — and  nearer  still, 

Her  masts — her  very  shrouds  are  seen ; 

In  mercy  will  she  yet  ride  o'er 
The  space  that  lies  between  ? 

To  wave  a  signal  with  his  hand, 
He  gathers  all  his  feeble  force ; 

Alas !  his  only  hope  expires ; 
She  keeps  upon  her  course. 

No  watchful  eye  that  signal  sees, 

No  friendly  hand  is  stretched  to  save, 

Too  much !  frail  nature  can  no  more, 
He  sinks  into  the  wave. 

And  wailing  winds  his  dirge  shall  sing. 

Nor  sadder  could  the  requiem  be, 
O'er  him  who  rests  in  dreamless  sleep, 

Beneath  the  cold  blue  sea. 


DEATH.  07 


DEATH. 


CRUEL  Death !  relentless  foe ! 
Striking  down  with  crushing  blow, 
What  our  hearts  cling  closest  to  ; 
The  sharp — the  agonizing  pang, 

Thy  shaft  doth  give, 

To  those  that  live, 
Is  keener,  deeper,  "bitterer  than 
The  anguish  of  the  dying  man. 

Past  are  his  pains, 

When  through  his  veins, 
With  subtle  speed  is  driven, 
Quick  as  th'  electric  flash  of  heaven, 
The  freezing  poison  of  thy  fang. 
He,  thy  malice  now  defies, 
He  who  still  and  pallid  lies, 
5  7 


98  DEATH. 

Like  a  marble  effigy,  upon  his  funeral  bier ; 
Turn,  turn  away, 
From  the  cold  clay, 

In  bleeding  hearts  your  triumph  lies,  not  here 
~No  more  upon  that  placid  brow, 
With  all  thy  torturing  arts,  wilt  thou 
Excite  a  frown. 
"With  his  last  moan, 
The  mortal  throe  was  o'er, 
Now  he  can  feel 
Thy  deadly  steel 

No  more. 
See,  all  the  while, 
A  happy  smile 

Plays  round  his  lips  and  seems  to  tell, 
His  spirit  light, 
Has  winged  its  flight 
To  heaven,  with  its  God  to  dwell. 

n. 

Death !  here's  your  prey — this  mourning  troop 
Of  friends,  this  weeping  band 
Of  kindred,  too,  who  stand 
Around  the  grave,  a  wretched  group. 


DEATH. 

While  011  the  hushed  and  silent  air 
Breathe  the  low  waitings  of  despair, 
Wrung  from  yon  pale  and  wasted  one, 
Whose  tottering  step  and  faded  cheek, 
And  sunken  eye,  too  plainly  speak 
The  havoc  thoii  hast  done. 

Complete  thy  work,  O  Death! 
Snatch  away  her  feeble  breath, 
Let  thy  spell  about  her  creep, 
Shroud  her  in  thy  icy  sleep. 
She's  thy  captive  now — art  sure  3 
Is  she  thine  for  evermore  I 
Blind,  indeed,  O  Death!  thou  art, 
To  the  bright  immortal  part; 
All  that's  left  thee  for  thy  portion  of  the  prize, 
Is  the  cold  insensate  clay, 
While  her  spirit's  gone  away, 
To  the  dwellings  of  the  angels  in  the  skies. 


100  UNSELFISH    LOYE. 


UNSELFISH    LOYE. 

IN  woody  dell,  where  dark  boughs  meet 

O'er  waters  murmuring  at  my  feet, 

'Mid  depths  of  mystic  shade  I  lie, 

And  muse  on  life's  sad  mystery. 

Alas !   why  should  my  lips  disclose 

The  secret  of  my  bosom's  woes? 

Why  even  by  a  look  reveal 

The  passion  that  for  her  I  feel? 

Some  chord  within  her  heart  may  lie, 

Already  tuned  to  sympathy, 

That  only  needs  the  master  tone, 

To  wake  the  music  of  its  own. 

But  had  not  best  that  answering  lay, 

Another  touch  than  mine  obey  ? 

One  in  whose  love  she'd  haply  be 

More  blest  than  sharing  life  with  me. 

Alas !    I  know  no  other  dwells 

On  earth,  up  from  whose  bosom  wells 


UNSELFISH    LOVE.        .  101 

For  her,  so  warm,  but  pure  a  flood 

Of  deep,  intense  solicitude ; 

And  all  of  wealth  heaven  could  bestow, 

All  that  of  fame  man's  heart  might  know, 

All  he  might  glean  from  earth,  in  fine, 

I'd  barter  all  to  call  her  mine. 

But  would  I  not,  for  wealth  or  fame 

That  fancy's  wildest  dream,  could  name, 

Beguiled  by  self,  consent  to  throw 

One  shadow  on  her  cloudless  brow. 

No  I   rather  let  my  secret  rest 

Forever  buried  in  my  breast, 

Unless  sweet  proofs  my  senses  move, 

That  she'd  delight  in  my  poor  love. 


102         DOWN    BY    SILENT    WATERS. 


DOWN    BY    SILENT   W  A  T  E  E  S 


by  silent  waters, 
Stretching  far  away 
In  the  misty  distance, 
Sat  we  one  sweet  day, 

Near  the  grassy  margin 
Of  those  waters  still, 
In  the  shadow  of  the 


Overhanging  hill. 


One  sweet  day  in  Autumn, 
Sat  we  there  alone, 

Hushed  the  heart  of  nature, 
Hushed  as  were  our  own. 

Silence  all  around  us, 

Silence  in  the  air, 
Silence  o'er  the  waters  — 

Silence  everywhere. 


DOWN    BY    SILENT    WATERS.          103 

Till  the  full  enchantment 

On  our  spirits  fell, 
With  a  depth  of  meaning, 

Words  can  never  tell ;  t 

Till  with  mute  emotion, 

Hand  in  hand  was  laid — 
Vows  the  purest,  truest, 

Silently  were  made; 

Yows,  outliving  seasons : 

Fraught  with  joys  or  tears, 
Standing  like  pale  tombstones 

Over  buried  years — 

Of  a  life  the  record — 

All  too  bright  to  last — 
Pointing  to  a  shadow 

In  the  spectral  past ; 

Years  that  back  have  brought  me, 

As  on  that  sweet  day, 
To  these  silent  waters 

Stretching  far  away, 


104          DOWN    BY    SILENT    .WATERS, 

From  their  grassy  margin, 

There  reposing  still, 
In  the  shadow  of  the 

Overhanging  hill. 

Silence  all  around  me, 

Silence  in  the  air, 
Silence  o'er  the  waters — 

Silence  everywhere. 

Shroud-like  while  it  wraps  me, 

Lingering  here  alone, 
Seems  the  heart  of  nature 

Dead  as  is  my  own. 


FORTUNE'S     FAVORITE.  105 


FOKTUXE'S    FAYOKITE. 


How  poorly  dotli  the  shallow  World 
Our  hearts'  dark  currents  scan ! 

Metliinks  I  hear  the  thoughtless  crowd 
Exclaim,  "  Oh,  happy  man ! 

"Life's  richest  prizes  thou  hast  won, 
Friends,  fortune,  and  a  name, 

For  to  the  very  dregs  thou'st  drained 
The  honied  cup  of  fame." 

Ah  !    could  they  penetrate  this  breast, 
And  mark  the  gloom  that's  there, 

Earth's  humblest  son  would  not  exchange 
His  lot  for  one  so  drear. 


106  FORTUNE'S    FAVORITE.. 

Ah !    Mary,  thou  hast  left  me  here, 
With  naught  thy  place  to  fill, 

For  the  sunshine  of  my  life  went  out 
When  thy  warm  pulse  stood  still. 

Men  look  with  envy  at  my  life, 

The  honors  that  are  mine, 
Heaven  knows  I'd  freely  give  them  all 

For  one  sweet  smile  of  thine. 

ISTow  through  the  world's  admiring  throngs 

Indifferent  I  move  ; 
What  is  man's  feeble  praise  to  me? 

I've  nothing  left  to  love. 

The  laurel  wreath  upon  my  brow 

An  idle  mockery  seems; 
Thy  tenderness  was  more  to  me 

Than  glory's  wildest  dreams. 

I  cannot  call  thee  back  to  life; 

Tliou'rt  gone  for  evermore ; 
Yet  do  I  feel  that  we  shall  meet 

When  life's  dull  season's  o'er. 


FORTUNE'S     FAVORITE.  107 

And  in  eternal  bonds  re-joined, 
When  tlie  last  trump  shall  sound, 

Roaming  through  sunny  paths  of  peace, 
Our  spirits  will  be  found. 


108  LONGINGS. 


L  ONGINGS. 

'Tis  a  flower  divinely  rare, 
I've  been  seeking  everywhere, 
'Neath  the  ocean  depths  of  air. 

Where  the  broad  earth  sweeps  away 
In  the  glimmering  dawn  of  day, 
Searching  still  my  footsteps  stray. 

Round  me  streams  the  amber  sun, 
Oft  as  in  my  haste  I  run, 
But  my  task  is  never  done. 

Sometimes  when  with  glittering  light, 
Stars  shine  o'er  me  cold  and  bright, 
Search  I  hopeless  through  the  night. 

And  the  morning  young  and  fairT 
Dawns  again  to  find  me  there, 
With  a  spirit  crushed  with  care. 


LONGINGS.  109 

Climb  I  then  the  cliffs  that  rise, 
Lost  in  folds  that  veil  the  skies, 
Hoping  there  to  seize  my  prize. 

Where  the  waters  ebb  and  flow 
O'er  their  pebbly  depths  below, 
I  have  dreamed  the  flower  might  grow  ; 

And  with  power  that  fancy  gave, 

Fathomed  every  ocean  cave, 

But  it  bloomed  not  'neath  the  wave. 

Sea  and  land,  sunshine  and  shade, 
Mountain  proud  and  lowly  glade, 
Fruitless  search  through  all  I've  made. 

Oft  I've  scanned  the  brazen  sky, 

Pond'ring  on  the  mystery, 

Till  my  eyes  were  strained  and  dry. 

Then  to  earth  I've  turned  again — 
Fruitful  soil,  where  grief  and  pain 
Thrive  in  tears  as  plants  in  rain. 


110  LONGINGS. 

Life  is  nearly  spent  and  gone, 
Weary  grows  my  heart,  and  lone, 
Shall  1  call  the  flower  my  own  ? 

Ne'er  on  earth  that  joy  may  be, 
Only  will  it  bloom  for  me, 
On  thy  shores,  eternity  ! 


A    WINTER     ELEGY.  Ill 


A    WINTER    ELEGY. 

IMITATION   OF   GEAY.      r 

THE  wintry  blast  howls  through  the  forest  grey, 
The  leafless  branches  rattle  on  each  tree, 

The  withered  leaves  in  eddies  whirl  away, 
And  stricken  nature  meditates  with  me. 

Now  lulls  in  lessening  gusts  the  wind  away, 
And     sounds    in    stagnant     silence    seem    tc 
freeze, 

Save  where  yon  wild  stream  dashes  on  its  way, 
Or  whisp'ring  sedges  catcli  the  dying  breeze. 

Save  that  from  yonder  venerable  tree, 
The  raven  croaks  her  melancholy  strain, 

To  such  as  heedless  sail  o'er  life's  smooth  sea, 
~NoT  dream  that  death  is   slumbering  on  the 

o 

main. 


112  A    WINTER    ELEGY. 

Beneath  these  aged  oaks — these  hoary  boughs, 
"Where    daily  now   the   white    man    toils    for 
food, 

The  smoky  wigwam  knew  its  simple  joys, 
Or  round  its  fires  the  Indian  warriors   stood. 

The  thunder-smiting  crash,  nor  falling  pine, 
Nor  roaring  whirlwind,  nor  the  battle  yell, 

Nor  arrow's  whiz,  nor  strong  bow's  twanging 

line, 
Shall  ever  break  their  slumber's  heavy  spell. 

For  them  no  more  the  martial  fire  shall  burn, 
When    some    old    chieftain    tells    his    battles 
o'er, 

Nor  dusky  bride  await  her  lord's  return, 
Or  fearful,  dread  lest  he  return  no  more. 

Oft  through  the  thicket  sped  the  fatal  dart, 
The    bounding    deer    oft    felt    the    unerring 

stroke, 
How  wild   and   free   throbbed   each   unfettered 

heart ! 
How  glad  their  shout  the  forest  silence  broke  ! 


A     WINTER    ELEGY.  113 

Let  not  refinement  criticise  their  ways, 
Their  vengeful  hate — their   thirst   for   bloody 

fame, 
Nor  cultured  man  withhold  his  meed  of  praise, 

For  vengeance,    then,   and   virtue,   were    the 

same. 

8 


114  CONFIDENCE. 


CONFIDENCE. 

IMITATION    OF    SHENSTONE. 

YE  damsels,  blithe,  happy,  and  free! 

With  hearts  unacquainted  with  love ; 
Ye  shepherds,  who  pipe  o'er  the  lea ! 

Content  with  your  lambkins  to  rove. 
In  you  I  can  never  confide, 

Gay  maidens  and  light-hearted  swains, 
For  I  very  well  know  you'll  deride 

The  sweet  secret  my  bosom  contains. 

But  I'll  hie  me  away  to  yon  wood, 

In  whose  covert  the  low  cooing  dove, 
Undisturbed  in  her  sweet  solitude, 

Ever  warbles  her  lament  of  love. 
And  I'll  mingle  my  sighs  with  the  strain, 

In  wThich  her  lost  mate  she  bewails ; 
To  the  rocks  and  the  trees  I'll  complain, 

For  such  confidants  never  tell  tales. 


CONFIDENCE.  115 

When  I  peep  in  the  streams  as  I  pass, 

Alas !  what  sad  changes  appear ; 
The  lilies  'tis  easy  to  trace, 

But  the  roses  no  longer  are  there. 
~Now  can  I  be  blamed  that  I'm  sad, 

That  my  mirth  and  good  humor  are  flown? 
Should  I  not  be  ashamed  to  seem  glad, 

When  my  Lubin — sweet  shepherd — is  gone? 

When  free  with  my  Lubin  to  stray, 

And  list  the  sweet  truths  lie  would  own, 
The  hours  so  quick  flew  away, 

They  were  past  ere  I  thought  them  begun ; 
Since  his  voice  I  no  longer  may  hear, 

I  am  lost  in  abstraction  profound ; 
I  sit  by  the  hour  unaware 

Of  a  thing  that  is  passing  around. 

They  may  tell  me  my  Lubin' s  untrue, 

'Nor  cares  his  lost  Delia  to  see, 
That  his  heart  he  has  promised  to  Sue, 

That  was  long  ago  given  to  me  ; 
But  such  slanders  I  will  not  believe, 

Foul  envy  is  all  that  they  prove; 


11*6  CONFIDENCE. 

For  my  Lubin  would  never  deceive 
The  lassie  that  once  fixed  his  love. 

Then  listen,  thou  soft-scented  gale! 

Nor  hasten  unkindly  away, 
Till  thou  hear'st  from  my  lips  a  true  tale, 

To  be  borne  to  my  Lubin  this  day: 
Oh,  tell  him  110  other  than  he, 

Can  lift  from  my  bosom  its  pain! 
Oh,  tell  him  to  come  back  to  me, 

And  I  shall  be  happy  again! 


MARGARET.  117 


MAEGAEET. 

I  HAD  a  dream,  a  pleasant  dream,  last  niglit, 
And  much  I  marvel  that  so  vividly, 

By  memory's  untrimmed  light, 
Should  glow  the  image  of  an  old  delight, 
And  come  with  such  a  freshness  back  to  me. 

The  village  where  my  boyhood  glided  by, 
I  saw  reposing,  as  in  days  of  yore, 
Beneath  an  evening  sky ; 
And  like  a  low  and  plaintive  melody, 
The  quiet  picture  touched  my  soul  once  more. 

Then  joy  stole  o'er  me,  like  a  thought  of  love, 
The  outline  of  the  pale  new  moon  to  see, 

Poised  in  the  vault  above, 
As  floats  a  feather  from  a  snowT-wThite  dove, 
For  thus  she   said,  "Thv  wish   shall   answered 
be." 


118  MARGARET. 

The  wish,  unuttered,  only  lived  in  thought, 
And  yet  a  pleasing  change  came  o'er  the  scene, 

Most  marvellously  wrought — 
A    fair-haired    girl    close    to    my  side    seemed 

brought, 
And  wandered  with  me  o'er  the  village  green. 

From  her  sealed  lips  no  soft  confession  fell, 
"No  word   of  love  I  yet  had  dared  to  breathe 

her, 

Why  'twas  I  could  not  tell, 
But    hushed    our    simple    hearts    seemed    by    a 

spell, 
Though  beating  such  a  sweet  tattoo  together. 

I  never  have  forgotten  Margaret, 

She  was  the  gentlest  thing  I  ever  knew, 

So  serious,  and  yet 
Sweet  mirth  sometimes  came  like   a  sparkling 

jet, 
From  out  her  eyes  of  bright,  but  earnest  blue. 

Without  a  cloud  her  morn  of  life  had  been, 
And  to  my  own  its  sunny  light  imparted, 


MARGARET,  119 

Our  future  all  unseen — 
So  woven  into  one  our  hearts  seemed  then, 
We  never  dreamed  that  we  could  e'er  be  parted. 

Alas !  that  those  first  golden  blooms  of  love — 
Those  promises  of  youth  so  true  and  tender — 

Should  perishable  prove, 
Or  only  live  in  dreams,  the  heart  to  move ; 
Scant  tribute  to  those  dear  old  times  to  render. 

Swift  years,  ah,  whither  flown  !  I  know  not  now 
The  country  e'en  where  Margaret  is  dwelling; 

Mayhap  her  form  lies  low 

Beneath  the  turf  where  the  wild  daisies  grow, 
Some  time-worn  stone  her  simple  story  telling. 

Peace  to  thee,  Margaret;  peace,  where'er  thou 

art, 
In   earthly   home,  or  heaven,  hence   summoned 

eavly ; 

Yet  ere  from  thee  I  part, 
I'll    breathe    once   more,    peace    to    the    gentle 

heart 
Of  her,  whom,  long  ago,  I  loved  so  dearly. 


120  MARGARET. 

My  dream  is  o'er ;  nay,  is't  not  one  long  dream . 
This  life  of  mine?    phantasmagoria,  all 

Its  lights  and  darks  must  gleam, 
Until  eternity's  bright  morning  beam 
To  deathless  life  my  slumbering  soul  shall  call. 


THE    BRIDAL    MORN.  121 


THE    BKIDAL    M  O  E  K 

UPON  a  grassy  slope  that  scarce  had  given 
All  its  fresh  moisture  to  the  morning  sun, 

o 

But    still    some    sparkling    drops    contrived    to 

screen 

From  the  warm  wooings  of  his  amorous  beams. 
A    youth,    whose   fair    unfurrowed    brow    pro 
claimed 

A  fresh  young  soul,  free  from  all  taint  of  care. 
Among  a  joyous  group  conspicuous  stood. 
His  clear  bright  eye,  from  which,  at  other  times, 
A.  glorious  energy  oft  shone,  with  look 
Of  fond  and  earnest  tenderness,  now  gazed 
Upon  another  and  a  fairer  form — 
One  that  with  fluttering  heart,  in  dubious  maze 
Of  mingled  joy  and  fear,  stood  half  unnerved, 
Y"et  happy  by  his  side.     Yes,  happy  both! 
And*  in  the  changing  scenes  of  after  years, 
6 


122  THE    BRIDAL     MORN. 

Whate'er  betide,  tins  of  all  others  will 
Remembered  be.     For  'twas  the  bridal  day 
Of  this  young  pair — an  Indian  summer  morn. 
That  veiled  itself  in  haze  of  dreamy  blue, 
Sleeping  so  stilly,  that  the  rustlings  of 
The  dropping  leaves,  like  whispers  seemed  into 
The  ear  to  glide.     While  all  unconscious  of 
The  scene,  or  viewing,  in  its  mirroring  face, 
Reflexes  only  of  their  own  light  hearts, 
This  merry  troop  saw  not  the  shadow  cast 
By  melancholy  there — that  spectre  dim, 
That  follows  nature  wheresoe'er  she  dwells, 
Sadd'ning  her  every  smile — but  in  a  mood 
Of  jollity,  chatting  in  under  tone 
Of  whispered  mirth,  or  half  checked  gayety, 
Toward  the  chapel  bent  their  lightsome   steps. 
And  to  the  portal  as  they  nearer  drew, 
That  dimly  brought  to  view  the  sacred  aisle, 
The  little  birds  up  in  the  old  oak  trees 
Poured  forth  a  welcome  in  a  stream  of  song ; 
While  breathing  from  the  sanctuary,  came 
Issuing  forth,  the  fragrance  of  fresh  flowers, 
That  pious  hands  had  on  the  altar  placed. 
And  now  from  yon  old  lofty  granite  pile, 


THE     BRIDAL     M  0  R  X  .  123 

The  merry,  merry  wedding  bells  are  ringing, 
And  a  gay  and  lively  phantasy  seem  singing, 
As  if  a  spirit  from  the  realms  of  joy  and  light, 
Tinman  hearts  had  come  to  ravish  with  delight, 
Or  rather  seemed  it  only  to  impart 
The   faithful    echo  of  the    bridegroom's   joyous 

heart. 
But   a  voice  seems  wailing  from  the  depths   of 

time, 

And  it  mingles,  oh !  how  sadly,  with  that  chime. 
Scattered  fragments  of  a  wild  prophetic  rhyme. 

Chime. 

Happy,  happy,  happy  youth ! 
Seeing  with  the  eye  of  truth, 
And  proclaiming  all  things  fair, 
That  the  lovely  earth  doth  wear, 
With  a  spirit  pure  and  free, 
Loving  life's  reality, 
Time  no  terrors  hath  for  tliee. 

Voice. 
There's  joy  in   thy   smile,   and  there's   light   in 

thine  eye, 

Then  why  struggles  up   from   thy   bosom    that, 
sigh? 


124:  THE    BRIDAL     MORN. 

Why  trembles  thy  hand,  and  why  blanches  thy 

cheek  ? 

Happy  heart !  in  those  whispers  does  joy  seem 
to  speak  ? 

Chime. 

As  to-day  thou  know'st  no  sorrow, 
So  'twill  likewise  be  to-morrow. 
So  with  each  succeeding  sun, 
Till  life's  pleasant  course  be  run. 

Voice. 

"Now  from  the  fair  east,  like  a  warrior  bold, 
The  sun  rideth  forth  in  his  armor  of  gold, 
But  ere  to  their  rest  the  winged  songsters  shall 

hie, 
More  shadows  than  one  shall  pass  over  the  sky. 

Chime. 

Passing  all  things  fair  is  she, 
"Whose  heart,  fond  youth,  is  pledged  to  thee; 
Aye !  lovely  as  in  snowy  white, 
The  daisies  on  a  mountain  height. 

Voice. 

A  violet  to  place  in  the  hair  of  the  bride, 
Fresh  plucked  from  the  bed  of  green  turf  at 
her  side, 


THE     BRIDAL    MORN.  125 

'Tis  bright  as  the  tints  of  the  morning  to-day, 

To-morrow  'twill  droop,  soon  to  perish  away. 

Chime.  • 

Life's  a  gently  flowing  stream, 
Life's  a  sweet  untroubled  dream, 
Life's  a  string  of  sunny  hours, 
Bright  as  clew-drops  on  the  flowers, 
Life  is  gold  without  alloy, 
Full  of  hope,  and  love,  and  joy. 
Voice. 

Hear  ye  not  the  waters  moan. 

In  a  low  and  wailing  tone, 

Ever  murmuring  on  the  air, 

Joy  is  sister-twin  to  care? 

Doth  not  every  thing  betray 

Lights  all  crossed  with  shadows  grey — 

Brightest  blossoms  everywhere, 

Saddened  by  the  blights  tliev  bear  ? 

v  o  t/ 

And  shall  human  hearts  £0  free, 

o  " 

When  naught  that  springs  from  earth  can  flee 

The  universal  destiny? 

Chime. 

In  the  spring  time  when  sweet  May 
Strewed  the  fields  with  flow'rets  gay, 


126  THE     BRIDAL    MORN. 

Up  and  down  on  airy  wing, 
Two  gay  birds  went  wandering; 
And  first  a  wreathy  flight  they  weave, 
As  loath  their  wild  retreat  to  leave, 
But  soon  a  bolder  flight  they  take, 
And  skim  along  the  quiet  lake, 
Or  upward  spring  on  high  to  soar, 
Till  back  to  earth  they  dip  once  more, 
Again  to  poise — to  dart — to  glide, 
Forever  by  each  other's  side. 
Oh !  in  how  wild  a  wantoning 
They  pass  the  merry  days  of  spring! 
Youth  and  maiden,  plighted  pair, 
These  two  birds  your  shadows  are, 
In  their  May-day  flight  ye  see 
Your  own  unclouded  destiny. 

Voice. 

Hark!  the  winds  of  winter  sigh, 
Listen  !  oh,  how  mournfully ! 
As  o'er  blighted  fields  they  stray, 
Murmuring,  summer's  passed  away — 
Summer  with  its  sun  and  showers, 
Grass  and  dew-drops,  birds  and  flowers — 
Offspring  of  the  fleeting  hours ; 


THE    BRIDAL     MORN.  127 

All  are  gone;  and  hovering  there, 

Like  sickly  phantoms  in  the  air, 

Shadows  now  all  grey  and  cold, 

As  in  a  shroud  the  earth  enfold. 

And  whence  that  low  and  plaintive  cry — 

That  one  sad  note  of  agony? 

On  yonder  stript  and  withered  bough, 

Alas  !  the  lonely  mourner  iiowr — 

The  minstrel  whose  wild  notes  of  spring, 

JSTo  more  through  woodland  haunts  shall  ring, 

To  fly  the  spot  attempts  in  vain 

And  to  his  perch  returns  again; 

To  linger  there  disconsolate 

Where  last  he  saw  his  dying  mate. 

Alas !  full  soon  all  hearts  shall  know 

That  joy  must  ebb  as  well  as  flow, 

For  never  yet  was  nursed  a  bliss 

That  bore  not  fruits  of  bitterness. 


The  birds  have  ceased  their  Carolina-, 

o" 

The  bride  has  worn  the  wedding  ring, 

o  O7 

The  nuptial  blessing  has  been  given, 
And  registered  the  rite  in  heaven. 


128  THE    BRIDAL    MORN. 

Now  stay  thee,  Time!  why  farther  run, 
"When  joy's  bright  goal  this  day  is  won? 
Or  if  thy  course  must  onward  be, 
Why  drag  these  happy  hearts  with  thee? 
*         *         *         *         *         *         * 
Alas!  it  was  an  idle  prayer, 
That  day  has  flown  so  bright  and  fair; 
And  many  more  that  sped  as  fast, 
Gone  down  to  slumber  in  the  past. 


TO    MISS    K.     M.  120 


TO    MISS    K.    M. 

ON    HER    WEDDING   DAY. 

• 

A  BRIGHTER  morn,  O  maiden ! 

K"ow  011  thy  pathway  beams, 
Tli an  ever  shed  its  joy  on  tliee, 

In  fancy's  wildest  dreams. 
The  earth  has  grown  more  beautiful, 

A  balmier  air  it  breathes, 
As  round  thy  heart  a  chaplet  bright 

Of  sunny  hopes  she  wreathes. 

Oh,  ever  joyful  destiny 

Of  those  who  wed  with  love- — 
A  shadow  of  the  perfect  state 

Of  souls  that  dwell  above! 
Glad  tidings,  gentle  maiden ! 

This  blissful  morning  brings, 
From  true  affection's  dropping  dew. 

An  endless  verdure  springs. 
6*  9 


130  TO     MISS    K.     M. 

Then  sweetly  glide  thy  hours,  and  when 

Long  years  have  passed  away, 
May  every  memory  be  bright, 

That's  linked  with  this  bright  day. 
Perchance,  you  too,  may  sometimes  cast 

A  thought  of  kindly  hue, 
On  him  who  from  his  exile  pens 

These  simple  lines  to  you. 


CAST    DOWN.  131 


CAST    DO  WIST. 

COLD,    listless,    dull!    what    o'er   my   soul   hath 

come, 

That  day  by  day,  emotionless  and  dumb, 
Chained  to  the  earth,  a  helpless  weight  I  lie? 
Why,  living  still,  a  very  stone  am  I? 

I  hear — I  feel — the  same  broad  earth  I  see, 
Myself,  a  parcel  of  the  mystery ! 
All  still  remains  to  point  the  soul  to  God. 
And  yet  my  heart  is  dead,  and  I  a  clod. 

He  only  who  gave  nature  life  and  law, 
And  out  of  nothing  deigned  my  soul  to  draw, 
With  vital  flame  can  bid  this  rush-light  burn, 
His  hand  withdrawn — to  nothing  I  return. 

He,  then,  the  King,   o'er  seas  that  hath  com 
mand, 
Who  holds  them  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand, 


132  CAST    DOWN. 

Who  lets  the  tempest  loose,  or  by  whose  will 
The  angry  waters  and  the  waves  are  still; 

He  'tis,  whose  rule  the  gathering  ages  own, 
Who  man's  proud  nature  brings  in  mercy  down, 
That  from  his  deep  abasement  he  may  see, 
Abandoned  thus,  how  poor  a  wretch  is  he. 

"Re-light  in  me,  my  God!  thy  fire  divine. 
Construct  anew  this  prostrate  wreck  of  thine ! 
One  look  of  love  shall  all-sufficient  be, 
To  lift  it  up  from  earth  to  heaven  and  Thee. 


YELLOW   FEVER.  133 


YELLOW    FEVEK. 

THE  fever  fiend !  the  fever  fiend !  lie  comes, 
make  haste  to  fly; 

Fly  all  who  can,  nor  stay  to  swell  the  low  de 
spairing  cry 

Of  you  poor  crouching  multitude,  whose  time 
has  come  to  die. 

With  noiseless  tread  he  stalks  among  his  unre 
sisting  foe, 

Invisible  his  murd'rous  blade,  but  sure  the  fatal 
blow,  - 

As  right  and  left,  with  steady  hand,  he  strikes 
his  victims  low. 

What  frightful  thing  is  this  that  can  the  strong 
man  thus  restrain, 

Can  make  him  like  an  infant,  weak,  can  fill  his 
bones  with  pain, 

His  blood  can  clog  with  poison,  and  with  mad 
ness  fire  his  brain? 


134  YELLOW     FEVER. 

He  cometli  now — whence  cometli  he?  no  living 
man  can  tell — 

We  know  him  only  by  the  slain  about  our 
hearths  that  fell, 

By  the  rumbling  of  the  dismal  hearse,  the  toll 
ing  of  the  bell. 

All  weathers    are   alike  to   him,  he   scorns   the 

tempest's  rage, 
With  dauntless  front  he  walks  abroad,  a  deadlier 

war  to  wage, 
A  dark  day's  work  that  night  he  writes  upon 

his  bloody  page. 

Oh !    one   would    think,  so    sweet    a    breeze    as 

this  from  off  the  sea, 

With  not  a  cloud  to  mar  the  azure  continuity, 
Might  gain  one  day  of  grace  at  least — alas !  no 

grace  grants  he. 

A   score  of  sunny  days    are   linked  by  nights, 

oh!  how  serene, 
With  skies  of  strange  transparency  Avhere  not 

a  cloud  is  seen, 


YELLOW    FEVER.  135 

But  fiercer  grows  the  slaughter   now  than  ever 
it  had  been. 

N"o  day,  no  night,  no  time  of  storm,  no   calm, 

no  sun,  no  shower, 
Can   stay  the   fatal  pestilence,   nor   battle   with 

its  power, 
Until  the   Lord   of  hosts   relent,  and   mark   its 

final  hour. 


136  HOPE    AND    DESPAIR. 


HOPE    AND    DESPAIE. 

Hope. 

MORTALS,  come  along  with,  me, 
We  will  roam  futurity. 
All  is  happy,  all  is  free, 
In  the  bright  futurity. 
Sons  of  earth,  rejoice,  rejoice ! 
Hear  ye  not  Hope's  cheering  voice  ? 
Mortals    mortals,  will  ye  come  ? 
Hope  invites*  you  to  her  home. 
Hark!  I  touch  the  trembling  string, 
Rich  celestial  raptures  sing, 
The  unborn  hour  alone  can  bring. 
Ye  shall  loiter  in  my  bowers, 
Shall  eat  my  fruits,  shall  plutk  rny  flowers, 
Shall  drink  the  nectar  of  my  rill, 
While  odors  soft  your  senses  fill. 
No  glossy  berries  tempting  glare, 
To  fill  your  veins  with  poison  there; 


HOPE     AND     DESPAIR.  137 

No  hidden  bee  with  sudden  sting, 
One  momentary  pang  shall  bring  ; 
There  no  unwholesome  nauseous  drop. 
With  bitterness  shall  dash  your  cup, 
For  in  my  bright  enchanted  isle, 
Grief  shall  grow  glad  and  sorrow  smile. 
Look  at  the  stars  in  yonder  sky, 
They  shine  not  half  so  bright  as  I  ; 
Yon  ruined  tower,  yon  aged  tree, 
The  moon  is  veiling  mellowly, 
With  molten  silver  landscape  laves, 
And  glitters  on  the  dancing  waves. 
But  mortals,  mortals,  turn  to  me, 
Far  brighter  is  futurity. 

Despair. 

Out !    out !    wanton    sprite,  thou   could'st  never 

yet  dare 

To  face  the  dark  lowering  scowl  of  Despair. 
Thy  promises  vanish  like  mists  from  the  air, 
And  man  finds  a  haven  at  last  in  Despair. 
Loud,  solemn,  and   deep  tolls   yon   old   chapel 

bell, 
It  is  ringing  thy  requiem — Hope,  fare  thee  well ! 


138  HOPE    AND    DESPAIR. 

Come  along,  come   along  with  me,  children   of 

clay, 

Your  life's  like  a  shadow  that  passeth  away ; 
Yon  sun  as  he  rose  seemed   to    smile    on    your 

birth, 
But  ye  mingle   at    e'en   with   the   dust   of  the 

earth. 

O  mortal,  O  mortal,  come  wander  with  me, 
Along  the  wild  shore  of  the  dark  rolling  sea, 
And  hear  from   the   depths   of  my   grim  rocky 

*,ave, 

The  dash  of  the  breaker,  the  roar  of  the  wave. 
When  clouds  in  black  volumes  roll  over  the  sky, 
And  the  storm  in  its  fury  sweeps  fearfully  by, 
Unmoved  tliou  shalt  smile  at  the  terrors  of 

night, 

And  brood  o'er  thy  woes  with  a  savage  delight. 
When  the  thunder-clap  bursts,  and  the  red 

lightnings  gleam, 

Thou    shalt   mingle   thy   shrieks   with   the    sea- 
bird's  wild  scream, 
And    thy    laugh,    like    a    demon's,    shall    ring 

through  the  air, 
Oh !  fierce  is  the  triumph  that  waits  on  Despair. 


HOPE    AND     DESPAIR.  139 

Observe  yonder  planet  —  tlie  queen  of  the  even, 
How  proudly  she  walks  through  the  dark  vault 

of  heaven, 

See  !  see  !  she  is  Hearing  the  Line  of  yon  height, 
And   now   she   sinks   down   &tf  the   "bosom    of 

night. 

O 

O  man!  in  that  star  thy  dark  destinies  gloar, 
Like  her  a  brief  moment  your  spirit  may  soar, 
Like  her,  too,  a  frowning  horizon  you'll  near, 
And  seek  for  repose  ,on  the  night  of  Despair. 

Hope. 

Gentle  spirit,  come  away, 
Come  into  the  dawning  day. 
Darkness  all  around  thee  lies, 
Deepening  for  the  sacrifice. 
Ruin  waits  to  stab  thee  there, 
On  the  altar  of  Despair. 
One  more  victim  still  to  gain 
For  the  realms  of  endless  pain. 
Come,  freed  spirit,  come  away, 
Come  into  the  dawning  day. 
Erst  to  lure  thee  and  to  save, 
Dreams  of  earthly  bliss  I  gave, 


r-';?  *TT 
'«,-'  *A   -.    V 


140  HOPE     AND    DESPAIR. 

Now  to  earth  no  longer  cling, 

Earth  is  but  a  hollow  thing. 

All  the  joy,  and  all  the  woe 

It  can  give,  like  shadows  go ; 

But  thou  fihalt,  when  they're  all  gone, 

Lean  on  me,  poor  lonely  one; 

Gently  will  I  soothe  thy  pain, 

And  thy  strength  renew  again, 

Train  thy  wings  to  soar  with  me 

To  the  land  I  promised  thee ; 

Far  away  beyond  the  skies, 

In  an  endless  spring  it  lies. 

Spirit,  come  then,  come  with  me, 

Rest  thou  in  eternity. 


AFTER    AN    ILLNESS.  141 


AFTER    AN    ILLNESS. 

How  quiet  my  eye,  and  how  pale  iny  cheek, 
My   breathing   how   low,   and    my    pulse    how 

weak, 

I  struggle  to  lift  up  my  head,  but  in  vain, 
It  feebly  sinks  back  on  its  pillow  again. 

But  the  fire  is  quenched  that  but  yesterday 
Was  drying  the  streams  of  my  life  away, 
And  like  the  cool  wave  as  it  kisses  the  shore, 
The  fresh  tide  of  health  is  returning  once  more. 

From  the  wild   dreams    of  phrensy   my    spirit 

awakes, 
And  on  me   the  morn   of   sweet   consciousness 

breaks, 

To  the  music  of  earth  once  again  I'm  alive, 
And  my  heart  overflows  as  my  senses  revive. 


142  AFTER    AN"    ILLNESS. 

My  friends  are  about  me,  now  quiet  their  tread 
As  they  softly  steal  up  to  the  side  of  my  bed, 
To  take  my  thin  hand  in  their  own  to  be 

pressed, 
And  with  words  of  encouragement  gladden  my 

breast. 

Come  pillow  me  up  in  my  easy  chair, 
And  let  me  be  placed  where  the  pure  fresh  air 
Of  heaven,  may  play  o'er  my  fevered  skin, 
And  woo  the  red   streams  from  their  fountain 
within. 

Bright,  beautiful  world!  once  again  I  behold 

Thy  glorious  day-sky  of  azure  and  gold, 

Thy  mountains,  thy  trees,  thy  gay  streams,  thy 

green  sod, 
All  preaching  alike  of  the  glory  of  God. 

Why  dost  thou,  my  soul,  at  life's  ills  so  repine, 
And  forget  all  the  wonderful  gifts  that  are 

thine? 

Be  mindful  that  God  in  his  wisdom  employs 
Afflictions  as  showers  to  freshen  our  joys. 


MEMORY    OF     CHILDHOOD.  143 


MEMOKY    OF    CHILDHOOD 

COME,  Memory !  mistress  as  thou  art 

Of  sweetest  chords  to  move  my  heart, 

"Who  canst  beguile  each  wayward  mood, 

That  grieves  my  own  loved  solitude, 

Come,  let  rne  nestle  close  to  thee, 

My  sweet  companion,  Memory ; 

And  lie  entranced  from  hour  to  hour, 

"Within  thy  world-excluding  bower. 

Aladdin-like  thy  lamp  supplies 

What  most  my  soul  hath  learned  to  prize, 

Its  piercing,  penetrating  ray 

Illumes  life's  dim  and  faded  way, 

And  through  the  shadowy  haze  of  years, 

The  long-forgotten  past  appears — 

The  Past,  far  pleasanter  to  me 

Than  dark,  unknown  Futurity, 

Where  hope  and  fear  alternate  rise, 

To  rule  her  ever-changing  skies. 


144  MEMORY    OF    CHILDHOOD. 

Sweet  mistress  of  the  lonely  hour, 
By  thee  detained  with  dreamy  lore 
Of  other  days,  I  seem  again 
Transported  to  my  native  glen ; 
Again  I  frisk  through  forests  wild, 
Where  once  I  roved  a  happy  child, 
Light,  careless,  gay,  and  ever  free 
As  the  inconstant  honey  bee, 
That  wand'ring  on  from  flower  to  flower. 
Lights  on  a  hundred  in  an  hour. 
Thus  does  wild  youth  its  sports  pursue, 
And  ever  flies  to  what  is  new ; 
Pleasures  are  only  won  to  cloy, 
Or  dropped  to  seize  some  brighter  joy. 
With  thee,  sweet  Memory,  for  my  guide, 
Thus  back  to  fairy-land  I  glide, 
Where  I  was  wont  from  meadows  gay, 
To  cull  the  brightest  flowers  of  May, 
Or  over  hill  and  valley  hie, 
To  catch  the  bright-winged  butterfly. 
But  if,  while  innocence  and  truth 
Smiled  on  my  bright  and  happy  youth, 
Some  pigmy  grief  chanced  to  pursue — 
For  childhood  has  its  sorrows  too — 


MEMORY     OF     CHILDHOOD. 

I'd  sit  me  down  and  weep  the  while, 
But  soon  would  come  a  cheery  smile, 
That  quickly  chased  my  tears  away, 
And  I  once  more  was  blithe  and  gay. 

Thus  gushes  free  my  heart  in  praise, 
When  I  review  those  dear  old  days, 
When  virtue  with  her  mild  control, 
Guided  aright  my  untaught  soul, 
Kept  from  my  path  all  guilt  or  care, 
That  after  many  a  stormy  year, 
I  yet  might  find,  at  least  in  tliee, 
One  blameless  joy,  dear  Memory! 

7  10 


146  THE    DYING    GIRL. 


THE     D.YING    GIRL    TO    HER 
LOVER. 

A    SONG. 

Too  late,  ah !  dearest  one,  too  late, 

Thou  comest  to  thine  own  again ; 
Alas !  to  die  is  my  sad  fate, 

Why,  why  must  bliss  thus  end  in  pain  ? 
They  parted  us — ah !  doom  too  sure 

To  leave  me  thus  in  grief  to  pine ! 
Thy  fondness  now  can  ne'er  restore 

This  pale  and  wasted  form  of  mine. 

But  better  thus,  at  life's  last  hour, 

To  know  that  thou  dost  love  me  still, 
Than  linger  on,  a  faded  flower, 

Touched  by  a  blight  that  could  not  kill. 
Fast  fade  those  features  dear  of  thine, 

No  more  I  mark  thy  anxious  eye, 
Then  press  thy  warm  sweet  lips  to  mine, 

And  let  me  thus  in  rapture  die. 


MORNING,  147 


M  O  K  tf  I  N  G  . 

'Tis  day,  'tis  day,  for  hark!  I  hear 

The  joyous  voice  of  chanticleer ; 

He  tosses  high  his  coral  crest, 

He  flaps  his  wings,  he  ruffs  his  breast, 

And  proudly  seems  the  while  to  say, 

As  loud  he  winds  his  clarion  gay, 

"I'm  the  glad  herald  of  the  day." 

The  first  faint  gleam  of  grey  now  flies 
In  silver  streaks  athwart  the  skies, 
Night's  sahle  veil  asunder  tears, 
When  lo !  yon  eastern  height  appears, 
With  web  of  light  about  it  spread 
And  stars  thick  clustering  round  its  head, 
But  these,  like  pearls  on  field  of  jet 
That  grace  a  queenly  coronet, 
At  every  instant  grow  less  bright, 
And  one  by  one  dissolve  in  light, 
At  whose  soft  touch  night's  paling  woof 
Shrinks  from  the  heavens'  o'erarching  roof. 


148  MORNING. 

And  o'er  yon  hills,  whose  bases  lie 
In  formless,  dim  uncertainty, 
But  rising  from  the  shadowy  night, 
Their  outline  lies  in  glimmering  light, 
Long  wavy  clouds  are  seen  to  flare 
Like  pennants  streaming  to  the  air. 
Through  every  hue  their  color  flies, 
As  when  the  changing  dolphin  dies  ; 
A  rosy  blush  an  instant  seen — 
An  orange  glows  where  it  had  been, 
And  yellow  melting  into  green. 
And  as  we  mark  each  flying  hue, 
That  tender*,  mild,  delicious  blue, 
That  only  when  the  skies  are  clear 
May  tinge  the  mellow  atmosphere, 
Appears,  absorbing  all  the  rest, 
And  smiling  spreads  from  east  to  west. 
A  golden  glory  far  and  near, 
N"ow  fires  the  orient  hemisphere, 
A  broader,  brighter  circle  throws, 
Until  from  pole  to  pole  it  glows, 
And  blazing  Phoebus,  upward  whirled, 
Sheds  lustre  o'er  a  waking  world. 

But  turn  from  Phoebus  and  the  skies, 


MORNING.  14:9 

New  beauties  in  the  landscape  rise. 
Upon  the  wood-sprung  zephyr-tide, 
The  mists  career  the  mountain  side ; 
And  setting  o'er  yon  dark  ravine, 
Through  their  grey  depths  no  longer   seen, 
In  crowded  phalanx  there  await 
The  certain  issue  of  their  fate ; 
For  in  a  thousand  shadowy  forms, 
They  vanish  as  the  morning  warms. 
And  tumbling  down  the  broken  steep, 
Bright  sparkling  cascades  headlong  leap, 
Which  coursing,  as  they  fall  below, 
The  winding  vale,  their  murmuring  now 

O  '  O 

Commingles  with  the  melody 
Of  warbling  throats  from  brake  and  tree, 
And  far  off  sheep-bell's  tinkling  note, 
And  sound  of  woodman's  axe  remote, 
And  insects'  droning  symphony. 
While  the  shrill  mountain  clarion  clear, 
That  quivering  cleaves  the  dewy  air, 
Startles  fleet  echo  from  the  woods, 
Her  shades  and  dreamy  solitudes, 
Who,  shy,  retreats  the  vale  along, 
Yet  with  gay  mischief  on  her  tongue. 


150  MORNING. 

Repeats  each  sound  with  sweet  decay, 
Fainter,  as  fast  she  flies  away. 

Now  let  ns  climb  to  yonder  height, 
And  give  expansion  to  the  sight. 
O'er  rolling  woods,  whose  stately  trees 
In  bending  grace  obey  the  breeze, 
The  ravished  eye  dilated  bounds 
O'er  miles  of  cultivated  grounds, 
Fields  of  ripe  grain  and  meads  in  flower, 
With  cottage  homes  all  dotted  o'er — 
Homes  that  repay  for  all  their  toil, 
The  happy  tillers  of  the  soil. 
Such  scenes  the  generous  sonl  must  fire, 
And  elevating  thoughts  inspire. 
Who  can  behold  so  fair  a  show, 
Nor  feel  his  breast  with  fervor  glow? 
With  tenderer  charities  inclined 
T'ward  all  the  race  of  human  kind ; 
And  t'ward  that  bounteous  God  above, 
Who  ever  guards  us  with  his  love, 
A  gratitude  without  alloy, 
For  all  the  blessings  we  enjoy. 


NIGHT.  151 


JSTIGHT. 

NIGHT  !  gentle  queen  of  life's  far  sweeter  half, 

Mild  mistress  of  the  meditative  mind ! 

To  thee,  beneath  whose  deep  enchanting  power, 

The  minstrels  of  all  ages  and  all  climes 

Have    their    enamored    souls    poured    forth    in 

song ; 

To  thee,  while  music  strikes  her  stirring  chords. 
That  in  sweet  modulations  rise  and  fall 
Upon  the  evening  medium  still,  I'll  weave 
A  simple  lay. 

The  sunset  glow  is  passed, 
The  purple  eve  has  faded  into  grey, 
And  twilight  dim  has  gone  to  hide  herself 
Within  thy  folding  robe  of  silence  and 
Repose.     The   stars   that   speak   of  heaven    and 

God, 

Are  clustered  in  thy  bosom:  the  new  moon- 
Pale  crescent — sits  upon  thy  brow,  and  o'er 
The  noiseless  world  a  silvery  lustre  sheds, 


152  NIGHT. 

Soft  as  the  mellow  calm  that  crept  at  eve 
Through    Eden's    happy    groves.      And    not    a 

sound 

Is  heard  save  such  as  swell  the  melody 
That  saturates,  like  balm  of  summer  flowers, 
The  depths  of  nature — save  the  murmu rings  of 
The  distant  waterfall,  the  droning  hum 
Of  insects,  or  the  whisperings  of  the  breeze. 
Oh !  what  a  time  to  listen  to  the  voice 
Of  Memory,  as  she  whispers  of  the  past, 
Once  loved  so  well,  but  now,  alas !  no  more. 
The   troops   of  friends   that  thronged   the   busy 

field, 
Through    which    life's   pathway   wound,    where 

are  they  now  ? 
Gone  from   the   earth  like  mists   from    off    the 

hills. 

Some  lie  unhonored  in  a  stranger  land, 
With  not  a  stone  to  mark  their  last  sad  place 
Of  rest ;  others  have  found  a  watery  grave, 
Food  for  the  monsters  of  the  deep ;  while  some 
Still  bear  the  onerous  charge  of  life,  tired  of 
Their  burdens,  yet  reluctant  to  depart. 

But  not  on  such  sad  themes,  beneath  thy  smile 


XI  GUT.  153 

O  placid  Night !  will  memory  linger  long. 
Pleasures,  whose  bare  remembrance  gives  them 

back 

To  be  enjoyed  again,  rush  fast  and  thick 
Upon    the    expanding    heart.     Who    doth     not 

mind 

The  moonlight  rambles  with  the  gentle  maid 
That  won  his  early  vow — his  gaze  intense 
Of  soft  beseeching,  and  the  blush  that  gave 
In  silent  eloquence  its  sweet  response  ? 
Happy — thrice  happy  season!  once  enjoyed, 
No  counterpart  e'er  comes — a  single  spot 
Of  green  in  the  wild  waste  of  life,  the  past 
Unclouded  by  the  shadow  of  regret, 
The  future  radiant  as  the  glory  of 
The  morning  star. 

And  holy  is  the  theme, 
To   which,   sweet   Night!    tliou    lov'st    to   lead 

along — 

The  home  of  childhood.     But  a  few  short  years 
Have  sped  away,  since  the  first  dawn  of  life, 
When  infancy  awoke  to  consciousness, 
And  consciousness  expanding,  clust'ring  bore 
The  buds  that  quickly  opened  into  joys — • 


154  NIGHT. 

Joys  that  the  home  of  childhood  only  knows — 
Pure  joys  and  ripe,  that  in  a  countless  throng, 
Through  the  young  unchecked  heart  come 

capering 
After  each  other  in  a  merry  chase. 

But  why  explore  the  regions  of  the  past, 
In  search  of  gems  to  string  the  strand  of  life? 
When  with  each  little  instant,  ere  it  flies, 
The  bounteous  hand  of  heaven  opes  for  man 
New  channels  of  delight,  showering  down 
Its  gifts,  alike  upon  the  lofty  and 
The   low.     Night   tunes   the   soul   to   rapturous 

joy ; 

For  here  beneath  this  cloudless  canopy, 
Where  all  creation  wears  the  sober  garb 
Of  peace,  the  heart,  its  restless  passions  laid, 
And  all  its  warring  tumults  stilled,  assumes 
A  corresponding  tone,  and  eager  drinks 
The  luxury  of  the  beautiful  and  good. 
The  day  may  have  its  feverish  delights, 
Its  train  of  fierce  excitements  and  pursuits, 
But  when  the  noisy  and  tumultuous  world 
Is  hushed  in   sleep,   when   the  last   sounds   of 
mirth 


NIGHT.  155 

Have  died,  and  thoughtless  gayety  sinks  down 
Exhausted  from  her  giddy  round,  then  is 
The  hour — the  holy  hour — for  memory, 
For  meditation,  and  for  God. 


156      SPIRIT     OF     THE     NIGHT     WIND. 


SPIKIT    OF    THE    NIGHT 
WIND. 

DAYLIGHT'S  last  ray  expiring, 
Leaves  of  the  real  but  a  dream  behind, 
Then  whither  but  to  its  own  depths  retiring, 

Shall  turn  my  drooping  mind? 

Like  a  dark  prison  seeming, 
Stagnant  and  dull  this  world  my  soul  enthralls, 
That  fain  would  go  into  the  light  that's  beam 
ing 

Beyond  life's  stony  walls. 

Yet  while  these  fancies  nursing, 

in 

Still  dwells  the  spirit  in  tktf  house  of  clay, 
And  here  with  nature  finds  herself  conversing, 
In  the  old  familiar  way. 


SPIRIT     OF    THE     NIGHT    WIND.       157 

Tims  while  the  still  earth  lying 
Asleep  in  night's  cool  dew,  methinks  I  hear 
The  spirit  of  the  wind,  in  whispers  sighing 

Sweet  counsel  in  my  ear. 

And  thus  it  seems  reproving: 
"  Why  stands  a  mortal  musing  here  alone  ? 
As  if  the  vain  regrets  his  heart  now  moving, 

None  but  himself  had  known. 

"  Over  the  far  earth  roaming, 
No  nook  so  hidden  but  'tis  known  to  me; 
Now     from      the    mountain's    breezy     summit 
coming, 

Now  from  the  booming  sea. 

"There's  not  a  human  dwelling — 
Be  it  the  hut  where  crime  and  want   are  wed, 
Or    gilded    dome   where    pride's   vain   heart   is 
swelling — 

That  I've  not  visited. 


"  Seeking,  but  never  finding 
One  spot  so  guarded  that  the  serpent  care 


158      SPIRIT     OF    THE    NIGHT     WIND. 

Could  come  not   in,  through    treacherous   path 
ways  winding, 
To  deal  its  venom  there. 

"Behind  a  trellis  gliding, 

While  streamed  the  yellow  moonlight  from  above, 
I've  heard  the  beatings  of  two  hearts  confiding 

In  their  summer  dream  of  love. 


"  Time,  oil !  how  soon  departing ; 
A  twelvemonth  passes,  and  I  seek  once  more 
That  spot — the  moonbeams  bright  as  ever  dart 
ing 

Down — down  on  the  cold  floor ; 

"  But  with  love's  warm  flood  heaving, 
Why  do  I  hear  no  more  their  hearts'  full  beat  ? 
Alas!  one  only  lives — she  for  her  lover  griev 
ing— 

He  in  his  winding-sheet. 

"  Morn's  faint  grey  glimmer  creeping 
Through  the  white  curtains  round  them  closely 
drawn, 


SPIRIT     OF     THE     NIGHT     WIND.       159 

I've  seen  upon  a  mother's  bosom  sleeping, 
An  infant  newly  born. 

"  Her  loving  eye  was  watching 
Her  treasure  with  a  grateful,  gushing  joy, 
Unconscious  that  an  icy  hand  was  touching 

The  forehead  of  her  boy. 

"  Alas !  on  all  sides  turning, 
The  fatal  truth  is  found  still  written  there — 
Each  human  heart    has   its   own    secret    yearn 
ing, 

Each  has  its  cross  to  bear. 

"The  nun  her  decades  telling, 
In  cell  retired — the  holy  man  of  prayer, 
The  youth,  his  heart  with  mad  ambition  swell 
ing, 

Fame's  idle  wreath  to  wear; 

"The  haughty  monarch  reigning, 
The  merchant  with  his  ships  and  freighted  store, 
The  houseless  wanderer  his  cold  morsel  gaining 

As  he  begs  from  door  to  door — 


160      SPIRIT     OF    THE     NIGHT     WIND. 

"  All  would  of  joy  be  reaping, 
But  with  the  grain  wild  grass  too  must  fall, 
And  sin's  rank  vines  that  round  the  heart  come 
creeping — 

The  curse  alike  of  all. 


"  Vain,  then,  is  all  repining ; 
The  thorn  still  rankles  wheresoever  we  roam ; 
Until  at  last  life's  weary  weight  resigning, 

The  wanderer  finds  his  home." 

To  a  sweet  cadence  bringing 
Its  song,  the  night  wind  wanders  on  its  way, 
But  still  the  burden  in  my  ear  is  ringing, 

And  ever  seems  to  say, 

In  gentle  tones  reproving : 
"  Why  stands  a  mortal  musing  here  alone  ? 
As  if  the  vain  regrets  his  heart  now  moving, 
but  himself  had  known." 


TO    MISS    H.    McT.  161 


TO    MISS    H.    McT. 

YOUTH — magic  word !  that  o'er  the  spirit  brings 
Those  dreamy  visions  of  departed  days — 

Those  images  of  bright  and  lovely  things — 
That   brief,  sweet   season   of  our    smiles    and 
tears ; 

Oft  when  the  cares  that  in  life's  pathway 
spring, 

As  time  rolls  on  and  steals  our  years  away, 
Upon  my  brow  their  gloomy  shadows  fling, 

Thou  dartest  to  my  soul  a  sunny  ray. 

And  like  the  birds  that  fly  from   wintry  wind, 

O'er  stormy  seas  to  find  a  summer  home; 
My  spirit  leaves  its  present  ills  behind, 

In  fancy  o'er  youth's  summer  scenes  to  roam 
11 


162  TO    MISS    H.     McT. 

The  bright,  unclouded  gayety  of  youth, 
The  joyous  sparkle  of  a  childish  eye, 

Springs  from  the  fount  of  purity  and  truth. 
And  claims  my  heart's  o'erflowing  sympathy. 

But  most  I  feel,  dear  girl,  for  one  like  thee, 
Whose  dreams  of  childhood  tho'  forever  gone, 

Have  left  thee  still  thy  sinless  purity, 

And  beauty,  too,  and  youth  to  call  thine  own. 

Oft  as  I  gaze  upon  thy  smiling  brow, 

I  wish  a  happier  fate  thy  days  may  crown, 

Than  'tis  the  lot  of  mortals  oft  to  know, 

And  that  thy  youth   may  prove   an  endless 
one. 


A     XIGHT     IT     SEA.  163 


A    ]STIGHT    AT    SEA. 

DARK  is  the  night,  the  fiendish  winds  are  howl 
ing  fitfully; 

In  inky  mountains  lifts  itself,  the  hideous,  hiss 
ing  sea; 

But  fear,  my  heart  can  touch  not,  love!  if 
thou  but  lowest  me. 

Still  drives  the  storm ;  oh,  trying  hour  !  in  bark 

so  frail  to  be 
Thus   plunging   lielmless   through   the   dark    to 

brave  a  maddened  sea; 
But  fear  thee  not,  my  precious   one  ;    no  harm 

shall  come  to  thee. 

The  timbers  crack,  each  sail  is  rent,  still  higher 

leaps  the  sea; 
Loud,  and  yet  louder  shrieks  the  blast  in  wild 

and  mocking  glee ; 
But  high   above  the   storm   doth   Heaven  keep 

watch  o'er  thee  and  me. 


164:  A    NIGHT    AT    SEA. 

Who  knows  !     Our  shattered  bark  may  yet  ride 

on  the  gale  and  be, 
Ere   breaks   to-morrow's     dawning    light,    from 

every  danger  free; 
With  sails  all  set  to  win  the  breeze — the  land 

upon  our  lee. 

Come    closer   to    my  heart,  my   love,   my   love 

that  lovest  me; 
And  if  o'erwhelmed  the  ship  goes   down,  we'll 

yet  united  be, 
Nor    fear    another    stormy    night,    through    all 

eternity. 


THE     TWO    WORLDS.  1G5 


THE    TWO    W  O  K  L  D  S  . 

WHAT  seems   this   world   to   me?    in    one   bold 

point 

Of  view,  I  see  it  as  a  rolling  sphere, 
On  which  I  headlong  plunge  through  trackless 

space, 
Like  a  wild  courser  in  his  mad  career. 

Yet  all  the  while  she  seems  to  stand  unmoved, 
The  centre  of  a  fathomless  domain ; 

Wherein  sun,  moon,  and  stars  revolving  seem, 
Around  their  queen,  as  her  attendant  train. 

Again  she  seems,  in  quiet  majesty, 

To  lead  the  seasons  of  each  coining  year — 

Stern     winter — smiling,     budding,     blushing 

spring— 
Kipe  summer — aumtun — all  in  turn  appear. 


166  THE     TWO    WORLDS. 

I  see  her  in  her  flowing  robe  of  flowers, 
Or  like  a  brooding  bird  upon  her  nest, 

'Mid  foliage  rich  and  motionless,  as  tranced 
In  noonday  dreams  she  lies  at  rest. 

O'er  hoary  forests  seems  she  now  to  reign. 

Dark  as  the  shadowy  brow  of  night ;   where 

broods 
The  silence  of  a  hundred  centimes, 

Unbroken  in  those  mighty  solitudes. 

And  then  she  comes   in  evening  mood,    when 

low 
The    pale    new    moon,    upon     yon    western 

hill, 

Hangs  like  a  silver  lamp  of  transient  hope, 
"With  gleams  at  least  of  joy,  lone   hearts  to 
fill. 

I  see  her  in  my  waking  hours;  in  dreams 
She  visiteth  the  dreary  realms  of  night, 

To  people  them  with  forms  of  loveliness, 
Such    as    the    seraphs    are    who    dwell  J  VL 
light. 


THE    TWO     WORLDS.  167 

Yet  oft,  alas !  when  e'en  this  peerless  earth 
To  my  bruised  spirit  can  no  balm  impart, 

I  turn  for  solace  to  that  little  world, 
That  hides  itself  within  my  silent  heart. 

For  e'en  'mid  ruins  mouldering  in  decay, 
Some   flower  unblighted    still   the   spot   may 
bear  ; 

And  in  my  heart  something  may  yet  remain, 
To  say  to  me,  that  all  niy  world  is  there. 


168  CONSTANCY. 


CONSTANCY. 

'Tis  man's  dull  way  to  prate  that  constancy 
Belongeth  not  to  anglit  of  womankind  ; 
That  with  the  gentler  sex,  over  the  grave 
Of  one  dead  fancy  yet  another  climbs, 
Which  in  its  turn  lies  buried  with  the  rest. 
Yet  is  there  oft  beneath  the  outward  form 
Of  woman's  perishable  loveliness, 
A  soul  that  lifteth  up  its  latch  but  once, 
And  letting  enter  but  a  single  guest, 
Closeth  its  gates  and  casts  the  key  away. 
O  Love !   how  strong  in  such  a  soul  art  thou ! 
For  with  a  chain  of  adamantine  strength, 
Thou  girdest  it  around  with  closest  ties, 
That  loosen  not  while  life's  warm  currents  flow. 
O  Love !   how  bright  in  such  a  soul  art  thou ! 
Bright  as  the  lightning  in  a  midnight  cloud, 
But  flashing  not  like  it,  one  moment  ere 
It  dies :   for  as  the  sun,  in  torrid  climes, 


CONSTANCY.  169 

Ne'er  suffers  eartli  to  cool,  and  only  sinks 
At  night,  that  purest  dews  from  heaven  may 
Descend,  and  freshen  every  tender  plant ; 
Thus  doth  the  full  uprisen  orb  of  love 
Warm  into  life,  and  to  perfection  bring 
A  thousand  rich,  luxuriant  evergreens, 
That  know  no  frost,  no  cold  autumnal  blasts  ; 
That  nourishment  imbibe  from  bitterest  tears, 
And  sturdier  grow  in  sorrow's  darkest  hour. 
O  Love  !    how  pure  in  such  a  soul  art  tliou  ! 
Self,  with  its  subtile  dye,  discoloreth  not 
Thy  crystal  depths,  transparent  as  the  light, 
"Wherein  are  treasured  aspirations  pure, 
And  holy  thoughts,  and  generous  resolves, 
Such  as  the  angels  look  on  and  are  glad. 
Light  but  that  spark,  what  if  her  passion's  vain, 
She  still  loves  on — still  garners  in  her  soul 
The  memory  of  a  once  fond  bein^.  though 

v  O"  f> 

Perchance  he  may  have  proved  as  faithless  as 
The  fickle  wind,  that  sighs  awhile  upon 
Some  tender  flower,  then  leaves  it  there  to  die ' 
Or  he  to  whom  confiding! V  she  duns', 

o  «/  "      o" 

Though  faithful  to  the  last,  may  yet  have  gone 
Upon  the  summons  of  an  early  doom. 


170  CONSTANCY. 

Yet  e'en  this  cruel  blow  the  flame  outlives, 
And  burns  with  secret  fire  tho'  life  be  dead ; 
Or  lingering  on,  despoiled- of  hope,  to  bring 
At  last  a  willing  victim  to  the  tomb — 
The  easy  gate  through  which  her  soul,  set  free, 
Rejoins  its  kindred  essence  in  the  skies. 

Nor  is  she  changed  when  hope's  fulfilled,  and 

all 

Is  prosperous  ;   the  bark  in  which  is  borne 
Her    soul's    best   prize,    011    time's    rough    sea's 

ne'er  wrecked, 

Nor  led  by  cunning  wiles  and  smooth  deceits, 
Into  the  vortex  of  inconstancy ; 
Days,  weeks,  and  years  serve  only  to  increase 
Its  precious  freight  of  rich,  delicious  joy. 


RHYMES    ABOUT     THE     CABLE.       171 


KHYMES   ABOUT    THE    CABLE 

UP,  up !    and  let's  hasten  away 

Through  tlie  canon  of  ages  to  climb, 

Till  we  sit  by  the  fountains  that  play 
At  the  very  head-waters  of  time. 

"Where  chaos,  cold,  formless,  and  dead, 
In  a  pall  of  black  midnight  was  hung, 

Till  creation — her  smiling  first-born — 
From  the  womb  of  eternity  sprung. 

Here  011  the  dread  confines  of  space,- 
All  silent  and  awe-struck  we  stand, 

As  the  fair  earth  from  nothing  comes  forth 
Into  lisjlit  at  its  Maker's  command. 

O 

Then  mark,  'mid  the  wonders  wre  see, 

That  in  his  inscrutable  plan, 
One  hemisphere  only  he  gives 

To  be  trodden  by  footstep  of  man. 


172        RHYMES    ABOUT     THE     CABLE. 

The  other  in  solitude  dwells 

Far  out  o'er  the  unexplored  main, 

And  the  waters  that  gulf  the  great  deep, 
He  has  bidden  to  sunder  the  twain. 

And  not  until  ages  shall  roll, 
And  Adam's  race  multiplied  be, 

As  the  leaves  of  the  forests  of  earth, 
As  the  sands  in  the  drifts  of  the  sea, 

Shall  the  great  Ocean  Prophet  go  forth 
With  faith's  lofty  banner  unfurled, 

To  fathom  the  fearful  unknown, 

And  give  to  mankind  a  New  World. 

Where  scattered  broad-cast  shall  upspring 
The  seed  of  the  old  fatherland — 

Thirty  million  new  hearts  to  unfold, 
And  unite  to  the  family  band. 

And  the  white  sail  shall  swell  to  the  wind, 
As  with  greetings  it  goes  and  returns : 

But  dull  seems  the  breeze  to  the  mind 
That  expects,  or  the  bosom  that  burns. 


RHYMES    ABOUT     THE     CABLE. 

And  what  if,  outwinging  the  wind, 

The  steamers  sweep  over  the  sea? 
E'en  the  flight  of  the  carrier-bird 

O 

Must  too  slow  for  this  century  be. 

For  our  kindred  are  over  the  deep, 
And  daily  we'd  wish  them  God -speed; 

So  the  Cable  once  more  must  be  laid, 
The  Great  Enterprise  must  succeed. 

Thus  the  lightning  is  made  to  come  down, 

And  under  the  ocean  to  run ; 
To  thrill  like  a  delicate  nerve 

Of  sensation  and  motion  in  one; 

Till  two  worlds,  with  an  ocean  between, 
Respond  like  the  bells  of  a  chime ; 

Or  as  two  gentle  lovers  converse 
To  the  sweet  beating  pulses  of  time. 

O  wondrous  invention  of  man ! 

Usurping  the  province  of  thought, 
That  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth 

May  in  closest  communion  be  brought. 


FOR    ALL    BUT     ME. 


FOE    ALL    BUT    ME. 

THE  cool,  sweet   morning   air   comes   breathing 

on  me, 
With  store  of  fragrance  from   the   world   of 

flowers ; 

I  hear  the  quavering  trill  of  birds  beguiling, 
"With  honied  strains,  the  bright  but   fleeting 

hours. 

How  fair  and  happy  seems  this  world  to  be, 
Alas !  for  all  but  me. 

Voices  I  hear  in  various  converse  joining, 

Beneath  my  window  as  they  come  and  go, 
And  some  in  cheerful  tones  and  some  in  laugh 
ter, 

And  some  in  tender  accents,  sweet  and  low. 
Drops  yet  of  joy  there  seem  for  all  to  be, 
Alas  !  why  not  for  me  ! 


FOE    ALL    BUT    ME.  175 

Hark !  how  the  church  bell  in  its  turret  swiner- 

o 

in£, 
Flings  on   the    air    its  voice    full   toned    and 

deep, 

A  tranquil  peace  to  countless  bosoms  bringing, 
That  never  jet  have  learnt  what  'tis  to  weep. 
Full  oft  again  'twill  ring  out  merrily, 

But  not,  alas,  for  me  ! 

Adown  the  viewless  track  of  time  I'm  gliding, 
And    earth's   rich    beauties    all     around    me 

glow ; 
A  glorious  walk  it  seems  for  all  abiding 

In  the  valley  we  are  treading  here  below. 
But  there's  a  land  they  call  eternity, 

Brighter,  I  hope,  for  me ! 


176  LITTLE    TOMMY. 


LITTLE    TOMMY. 

How  strange  to  us  the  ways  of  God ! 

How  quick  is  grief  to  grow  ! 
And  hearts  without  a  warning  word. 

Their  first  afflictions  know. 

1  saw  a  group  with  smiling  looks, 
That  told  the  joy  they  felt ; 

Love  filled  the  sunny  atmosphere 
"With  light  wherein  they  dwelt. 

A  sweeter  scene  of  quiet  peace, 

My  fancy  never  drew — 
The  father  and  the  mother,  and 

Those  little  brothers  two. 

Oh  sudden  came  the  mandate 

From  the  chancery  above, 
To  shatter,  like  a  thunderbolt, 

That  shrine  of  life  and  love  ! 


LITTLE     TOMMY.  ITT 

The  youngest  and  the  fairest — 
The  pearl — the  precious  flower— 

The  mother's  darling  little  pet. 
Ah,  pitiful  the  hour ! 

Dropped  like  a  blossom  from  a  tree, 

And  passed  from  earth  away, 
Yet  never  more  to  suffer 

In  this  vesture  frail  of  clay. 

Weep  not  for  him,  poor  mother ; 

'Twas  thy  God,  who  knows  thy  pain, 
That  gave  him,  and  His  blessed  will 

That  calls  him  back  again. 

Lift  up  thy  drooping  spirit  high, 

Thy  loving  Lord  adore, 
And  "Father,"  say,  "Thy  will  be  done, 

IXow  and  forever  more." 

For  precious — priceless  is  the  grace, 
On  bruised  ones  that's  poured, 

Who  in  their  hour  of  darkness  come 
To  lean  upon  their  Lord. 

8*  12 


178  THOUGHTS     OF     HEAVEN. 


THOUGHTS    OF    HE A YEN. 

To  him  who  bounding  not  with  narrow  view, 
His  vision,  to  the  cold,  dull  things  of  earth, 
But  who,  with  eye  of  faith,  reaches  beyond 
The  illusive  promises  of  pleasure,  fame, 
Or  power,  with  steadfast  soul  to  rest  upon 
The  thought  of  an  eternity  beyond, 
There's  not  a  gleam  on  the  flood  tide  of  hope, 
Swimming  before  him,  that  with  readier  glance 
His    eye   discerns,    than    that    bright    moment, 

when, 

Mortality  cast  off,  writh  all  its  cruel  stings 
Of  blight  and  sorrow^,  care,  mistrust,  and  woe, 
He,  soul-freed  as  from  dismal  dreams  shall  wake ; 
Aye,  w^ake  to  brimful  joy,  in  greetings  with 
Those  dear  companions  of  his  heart,  from  whom 
He  parted  one  by  one  on  life's  dull  shore. 
Glorious  reunion,  and  so  sure  the  bond ; 
Free,  too,  each  heart,  and  gushing  as  his  own. 


THOUGHTS    OF    HEAYEN.  179 

All  coldness  gone;  all  old  estrangements  dead; 
All  grievous  wounds  healed  up  without  a  scar, 
And  every  thing  most  prized  now  perfect  grown. 
Ah !  could  we  but  in  bright,  unshadowed  view 
This  vision  keep,  how  easy  were  the  task, 
By  God  imposed,  to  labor  to  the  end; 
Losing,  in  hopes  of  heaven,  all  painful  sense 
Of  present  ills,  planting  the  pathway  to 
The  grave  with   flowers,  and   at   each    step   to 
ward 

That  narrow  house,  seeing,  without  regret, 
Another  stone  fall  in  to  fill  the  chasm 
That  lies  between  us  and  eternity. 


180  SUNDAY     EVENING. 


SUNDAY    EYEXIXG. 

"  Six  days,"  saith  the  Lord,  "  slialt  tliou  labor, 

Six  out  of  the  seven  are  thine ; 
Six  to  sow,  and  to  reap,  and  to  gather ; 

But  remember  the  seventh  is  mine." 

He  hath  said  it,  the  Lord  and  the  Master, 
But  man  knoweth  better  than  He, 

For  he  grudgeth  his  maker  His  fraction, 
And  frowns  at  His  loving  decree. 

Oh!  weary  the  hearts  that  are  wasting, 

And  wearing  their  tissues  away, 
Because  of  the  hard  and  the  selfish, 

Who  heed  not  the  Lord's  blessed  day. 

So  the  sun  t'ward  the  ocean  is  sinking, 
And  morning's  bright  hours  have  all  gone, 

Consecrated  to  rest  and  devotion, 

Ere  the  task  they  have  set  me  is  done. 


SUNDAY    EVENING.  181 

But  at  length  I  have  crept  from  my  prison, 
From  my  fetters  awhile  to  be  free, 

From  the  din  of  the  hive  I  have  wandered 
To  the  hills  that  look  out  o'er  the  sea. 

To  these  hills  that  rise  up  from  the  waters. 

So  cold  and  so  silent  and  lone, 
That  they  seem  to  respond  to  my  sadness 

From  hearts  that  are  sad  as  my  own. 

Here  I  sit  while  the  hushed  hours   are  leaving 
Scarce  even  their  shadows  for  me, 

Till  the  great  fiery  globe  slowly  sinketli 
In  the  depths  of  the  violet  sea; 

Till  the  night's  wide  pavilion  descendeth, 

And  silence  sits  under  her  pall, 
And  seems  in  the  dread  supernatural, 
My  soul  by  its  touch  to  enthrall ; 

Till  the  stars  their  bright  radiance  are   darting 
From  the  depths  of  the  dark  dome  above 

As  brilliant  as  sparkles  the  hoar  frost, 
But  cold  as  a  home  without  love. 


182  SUNDAY    EVENING. 

Yet  steadily  rest  they  upon  me, 
So  pure  in  their  passionless  gaze, 

That  from  earth  and  its  dulness  they  draw  me, 
To  God  and  his  wonderful  ways. 

For  He  saith  that  the  poor  are  His  children, 
As  well  as  the  mighty  and  grand, 

That  for  them,  too,  He  scatters  Plis  blessings, 
As  the  sower  the  seed  from  his  hand. 

Then  peace,  murm'ring  heart,  in  all  "bosoms 
Joy  mingles  its  measure  with  care ; 

So  the  rich  and  the  poor  should  be  brothers, 
For  both  have  their  burdens  to  bear. 

On  the  breeze  from  the  bay's  rippling  bosom, 
Comes  the  hum  of  the  city  again, 

And  as  night's  deep'ning  shadows  close  round 

me, 
I  return  to  the  dwellings  of  men. 


EVENING    HYMN.  183 


EVENING    II  Y  MIST. 

THE  evening  stillness  sweetly  steals 
O'er  earth  and  air ; 

The  vesper  chimes,  in  solemn  peals, 
The  hour  of  prayer ; 

While  with  rapt  hearts  and  bended  knee, 

We  chant  our  evening  hymn  to  thee, 
Virgin  Bless'd,  to  thee ! 

The  birds  with  music  sweet,  no  more 

The  forest  fill ; 
The  melody  of  day  is  o'er, 

All,  all  is  still ; 
Save  that  in  holy  harmony, 
We  chant  our  evening  hymn  to  thee, 

Virgin  Bless'd    to  thee! 


EVENING    HYMN. 

Virgin  Mother,  linger  near, 

Our  prayers  approve, 

And  upward  to  our  Father  bear 
Our  words  of  love, 

While  robed  in  faith  our  souls  agree 

To  chant  our  evening  hymn  to  thee. 

Virgin  Bless'd,  to  thee! 


AUBURN,     MY    HOME  185 

AUBURN,    MY    HOME. 

AH  !  darker  still  settles  the  gloom  on  my  brow, 

As  long  years  creep  cheerlessly  on ; 
And  sadly  I  turn  from  the  dark  picture  now, 

Of  a  life  whose  bright  hopes  have  all   gone ; 
For  the  voices  that  once  were  so  sweet  to  my  ear, 

Hushed  and  silent  forever  must  keep, 
And  the  friends  of  my  youth,  to  my  bosom  so 
dear, 

'Keath  the  green  sod  of  Auburn  now  sleep. 

For  me  the  bright  waters  of  life's  joyous  stream 

Shall  glitter  and  sparkle  no  more ; 
Of  its  once   cheerful    sunlight   there's    scarce    a 

faint  gleam 

Left  to  gladden  its  desolate  shore. 
But  though  the  dark   billows   between  us  now 

roll, 

And  sad  though  my  spirit  must  be, 
Sweet   solace,  dear   Auburn,  my   world-wearied 

soul 
Still  finds  in  its  memories  of  thee. 


186  DESOLATION. 


DES  OL  ATIOX. 

SHRIEK,  cold  wind,  shriek! 

O'er  this  hill-top  bleak, 
Never  cease  with  your  wroeful  wail 

Through  the  jagged  lines 

Of  the  tall,  dark  pines, 
As  they  shake  in  the  icy  gale. 

And  past  is  the  fright 
Of  the  long,  wild  night, 

As  it  lifts  up  its  horrible  pall ; 
And  the  snow  and  sleet, 
Like  a  winding  sheet, 

Have  covered  the  mountains  all. 

And  the  eagle  swings 
On  his  mighty  wings, 

And  screams  in  the  clear  blue  sky, 
As  he  rushes  past, 
In  the  whirl  of  the  blast, 

To  his  white-hooded  crag  on  high. 


DESOLATION.  187 

And  wretched  and  lone 

On  this  frozen  stone, 
Sits  one  who  is  longing  to  lie 

By  her  side  who  was  laid 

In  the  grave  that  they  made 
Last  night  ere  the  storm  came  by. 


188  HOPE. 


HOPE. 

HOPE,  like  a  mocking  spectre,  lingers  last 
Among  the  fragments  of  a  ruined  life ; 
And,  ever  and  anon,  drags  the  dark  soul 
Out  of  itself,  pointing  fallaciously 
To  images  of  joy  ne'er  to  be  realized. 


EVA.  189 

E  YA. 

EVA,  Eva,  on  thy  brow, 
Why  that  brooding  shadow  now? 
Why  that  filling,  swimming  eye, 
Quivering  lip  and  broken  sigh? 

Come,  my  dove ! 

Mood  like  this  should  ne'er  be  thine ; 
Place  thy  little  hand  in  mine. 
Set  at  once  thy  secret  free, 
Give  thy  bosom  all  to  me. 

Wilt  thou,  love? 

Spoke  no  word  the  pretty  creature ; 

Sadness  still  touched  every  feature  ; 

'Twas  as  clear  as  crystal  water, 

That  the  green-eyed  ghoul  had  brought  her 
Into  trouble. 

Then  unto  my  heart  I  drew  her ; 

Whispered  earnest  words  unto  her ; 

Strove  to  show  by  soft  persuasion, 

'Twas  a  mere  infatuation- 
All  a  bubble. 


190  EYA. 

Half  she  smiled,  then  through  her  pouting, 
Half  convinced,  and  yet  half  doubting. 
Oh  what  mischief  may  arise 
From  a  pair  of  midnight  eyes ! 

If  another's 

Bright  and  blue  ones  should  discover, 
Or  but  fancy  that  her  lover 
Sipped  a  single  drop  of  pleasure 
From  the  jetty  liquid  measure 

Of  the  other's. 


IV. 

GRANDMAMMA'S 
CHRISTMAS   TALE 


CHRISTMAS    TALE.  193 


GKA?sTD  MAMMA'S    CHEISTMAS 
TALE. 

i. 

On !  we  youngsters  were  a  merry  set,  a  keeping 

Christmas  night 

In  the  parlor    snug   and    cozy,    where    the   fire 
blazed  warm  and  bright ; 

And  in  cushioned  easy  chair, 
Grandmamma  sat  dozing  there, 
Quite  unconscious,  tho'  the  fun  was  at  its  height. 

n. 
But  at  length  we  quiet  grew,  then  cried  a  rosy 

little  elf, 

"This   is  stupid,  let's  have  grandma's  tale,  'tis 
all  about  herself; 

To  her  promise  she  shall  keep, 
So  let's  rouse  her  from  her  sleep; 
If  she's  angry,  why,  I'll  bear  the  blame  myself." 
9  13 


194:  CHRISTMAS    TALE. 

III. 
Then   the  saucy   creature   pulled   the   dear  old 

lady's  apron  string, 

On  whose  cheek  was  smacked  a  kiss  that  made 
the  very  ceiling  ring, 

While  she  lifted  up  her  eyes, 
With  a  look  of  half  surprise, 
And  a  smile  that  gentlest  heart  alone  could  bring. 

IV. 

In  her  cap  of  snowy  dimity  she  looked  so  clean 

and  neat, 

Then   her   eye   was  full    of   kindness,    and    her 
voice  was  low  and  sweet ; 

And  the  tales  she  used  to  tell, 
Wove  around  our  hearts  a  spell, 
In  the  dreary  winter  evenings  when  we'd  meet. 

v. 
But  the  story  of  her  own  young  life,  to  us  was 

yet  a  dream, 

For    although  we   often   pressed   her,    she   con 
trived  to  shun  the  theme; 

And  the  wish  each  day  grew  stronger, 
Till  we  vowed  we'd  wait  no  longer, 

O         " 

For  her  pledge  this  very  night  she  must  r 


CHRISTMAS    TALE.  195 

VI. 

Like  a  knot  of  little  gypsies  then   we  gathered 

round  her  knees ; 

And    our    whispers    fainter   grew    as    dies    the 
playful  summer  breeze, 

As  in  her  own  gentle  way, 
She  began  without  delay 
Her  story,  and  the  words  she  spoke  were  these  :— 

yn. 
In    my   eyes    sweet    tears    oft    glisten    as   I   sit 

alone  and  think, 

When  my  heart  up  to  the   gushing  streams  of 
memory  goes  to  drink  ; 

And  the  forms  of  those  that  were 
In  my  childhood's  home  so  dear, 
In  one  happy  picture  fancy  seems  to  link. 

yni. 

There  the  vine-enwoveii  cottage,  near  the  elder- 
clustered  dell, 

Stood,  half  hidden  by   the   branches   from   the 
spreading  elms  that  fell ; 

And  'twere  rash  to  disbelieve 
That  at  morning,  noon,  or  eve, 
Holy  peace  about  the  precincts  loved  to  dwell 


196  CHRISTMAS    TALE. 

IX. 

And  my  father,  I  remember  him,  as  'twere  but 

yesterday, 

With  his  look  of   sweet   contentedness,  that  al 
ways  seemed  to  say, 

Oh !  how  blessed  is  our  lot, 
In  this  quiet  little  cot, 
From  the  world  and  all  its  falseness,  far  away. 

x. 

And  I  seem   as   then  to   watch   again  the   fea 
tures  of  my  mother, 

As  she  gazed  with  earnest  tenderness  upon  my 
little  brother ; 

For  too  frail  a  thing  was  he, 
Long  in  this  chill  world  to  be, 
While  the  angels  waited  for  him  in  the  other. 

XI. 

'Twas  one  evening,  when  to  realms  of  light  he 

knew  he  must  depart, 

And    the    thought    that    we    should    lose   him 
nearly  broke  my  little  heart, 

That  he  turned  to  me  and  said : 
"  Sister  dear,  when  I  am  dead 
Do  not  think  that  we  shall  always  be  apart. 


CHRISTMAS    TALE.  197 

XII. 
"  On    my    angel    wings    I'll    come    to    thee    at 

evening  sweet  and  still ; 

I    will    visit    thee    at    morning    when    the    sun 
comes  o'er  the  hill ; 

When  alone,  I  will  be  near  thee, 
Or  when  loving  voices  cheer  thee, 
"When  in  sadness,  or  when  joys  thy  bosom  fill." 

XIII. 

And   that  little    dying   brother,  now    an    angel 

pure  and  bright, 

Said  he'd  bring  me  gentle  warnings   from    the 
fount  of  truth  and  light ; 

Promised  always  to  be  near 
To  whisper  counsel  in  my  ear, 
When  through  frailty  I  might  wraver  in  the  right. 

XIV. 

Thus  my  angel  watched  and  shielded  me  through 

each  unfolding  year, 

Kept  my  heart  admonished  always  with  a  salu 
tary  fear; 

When  evil  thoughts  would  tyrannize, 
Taught  my  trembling  soul  to  rise 
To  a  purer  height  upon  the  wdngs  of  prayer. 


198  CHRISTMAS    TALE. 

XV. 

"N"ow  the   days  of  youth    at   length   were   o'er, 

and  thoughtfully  I  stood 

On  the  margin  where  the  maiden   merges  into 
womanhood ; 

And  a  fuller  joy  dwelt  in  me, 
For  a  fond  one  sought  to  win  me, 
And  my  virgin  heart  consented  as  he  wooed. 

XVI. 

Ne'er   give   heed,  my   darling   children,  to   the 

voice  that  laughs  at  love, 

Tis  the  manna  of  life's   wilderness  that  falleth 
from  above; 

But  pure  hearts  alone  'twill  bless, 
Strong  in  truth  and  earnestness, 
That  thro'  all,  and  unto  death,  shall  faithful  prove. 

.  xvn. 
Oh!  the   earth   came   forth    in    richer    garb    in 

those  dear  days,  I  ween ; 

Then,    the   mornings    all    seemed    brighter,  and 
the  evenings  more  serene; 

Every  simple  flower  that  grew 
Took  a  warmer,  deeper  hue; 
Every  opening  plant  put  on  a  tend'rer  green. 


CHRISTMAS    TALE.  199 

XVIII. 
Thus  I  gave   myself  to   present   joy,    for   very 

well  I  knew 

That  still  nearer,  each  revolving  sun,  the   hour 
of  trial  drew ; 

For  too  oft  it  is  the  part 
Of  a  fondly  loving  heart, 
By  long  suffering  to  prove  if  it  be  true, 

XIX. 

When,  alas!  the  day  of  parting  came,  my  heart 

grew  chill  with  fear, 

When  I  pondered  all   the   dangers   that   would 
soon  beset  my  dear ; 

Till  &  voice  my  spirit  awed, 
Saying,  "Put  thy  trust  in  God." 
'Twas  my  angel  that  was  whisp'ring  in  my  ear. 

xx. 
Xow  a  noble  ship  is   bearing   him;   before   the 

breeze  she  flies. 

Oh  !  the  crowd  of  deep,  unuttered  thoughts  that 
in  my  bosom  rise, 

As  my  fancy  telleth  me 
How  she  skims  the  Indian  sea, 
Skims  the  ocean  where  the  spicy  Ceylon  lies. 


200  CHRISTMAS    TALE. 


And  witli  all  my  heart's  devotedness  I  begged 

of  Heaven  each  day, 

So  to  bless  his  generous   efforts  that  he  might 
not  long  delay. 

Oh!  what  joy  then  to  have  heard 
But  one  only  little  word,       * 
Just  to  tell  us  he  was  safe,  though  far  away. 

XXII. 

But  the  weary  months  rolled  round  and  yet  no 

tidings  could  we  hear, 

Till  at  last  the  radiant  face  of  hope  grew  pale 
with  ghastly  fear. 

But  my  angel  still  would  sigh : 
"Trust  in  him  who  is  on  high, 
To  His  true  and  faithful  ones  He's  always  near." 

XXIII. 

Then  a  bark  from  the  Brazils  one  morn   to   us 

the  rumor  bore, 

That  his  vessel  went  to  pieces   on    the  Amazo 
nian  shore; 

And  of  passengers  and  crew, 
There  remained  but  only  two, 
While  the  rest  of  them  were  heard  of  nevermore. 


CHRISTMAS    TALE.  201 

XXIV. 

But    a    new  -  born   hope,  as    quick    as   thought, 

sprung  up  within  my  breast, 
That    the     one    our    thoughts    were     following 
might  yet  survive  the  rest; 

And  I  never,  from  that  day, 
Could  the  image  put  away, 
Thus  indelibly  upon  my  soul  impressed. 

XXV. 

But  misfortune's  crowning  hour  came  ere  many 

months  went  by, 

With  the  darkness  of  a  storm-cloud  rising   o'er 
our  summer  sky, 

When  we  felt  ourselves  secure 
In  our  cottage  home  no  more; 
'Twas  another  wound  our  trust  in  God  to   trv. 

i/ 

XXVI. 

By  a  cruel  course  of  fraud  they  sought  to  rob 

us  of  our  own — 

Of  an  undisputed  heritage  through  generations 
gone. 

When,  alas!  shall  righteous  cause 
Find  its  champion  in  the  laws? 
Laws  in  whose  great  name  all  justice  should  be 
done. 


202  CHRISTMAS    TALE. 

XXVII. 

Utter  ruin  seemed  impending.     In  my  poor  old 

father's  face, 

Deepening  lines  of  cank'ring  care  from  day  to 
day  'twas  plain  to  trace — 

From  his  hearth-stone  to  be  hurled 
On  a  cold,  unfeeling  world, 
To  begin  again  life's  rough  and  toilsome  race. 

XXVIII. 

Oh !  my  heart  was  torn  by  many  a  pang  of  an 
guish,  thus  to  see 

The  peace  that  blessed  those  dear  ones  turned 
to  bitter  poverty  ; 

'Twas  a  cruel  thought  to  brook, 
So  a  stern  resolve  I  took', 
I  would  offer  up  myself  and  set  them  free. 

XXIX. 

For  as  he  who  had  so  crushed  us  was  by  am 
ple  fortune  crowrned, 

It  was  not  in  simple  greed  of  gain  his  purpose 
could  be  found, 

For  by  all  that  art  could  do, 
He'd  sought  my  hand,  tho1  well  he  knew 
That  my  heart  by  solemn  pledge  had  long  been 
bound  '3 


CHRISTMAS     TALE.  203 

XXX. 

Till   I   told   him   that    his   suit   was    vain,   nay, 

odious  to  me, 

And  that  while  the   light  of  heaven  shone  his 
bride  I'd  never  be. 

Then  within  his  selfish  heart 
He  contrived,  with  subtle  art, 
How  he'd  weave  this  web  of  dark  iniquity. 

XXXI. 

Then  I  said,  "His   purpose   he  shall  gain,  but 

all  for  their  dear  sake ; 

Of  myself  I  have  resolved  a  willing  sacrifice  to 
make ;  " 

So  I  dressed  me  011  the  day 
In  a  bridal  garment  gay, 
"With  a  cheerful  air  at  least  my  vows  to  take. 

XXXII. 

"When  beneath  the   church's  hallow'd  dome  we 

all  had  entered  in, 

And  the  venerable  priest  kail  arose  the  service 
to  begin, 

Then  these  words  I  seemed  to  hear, 
Like  a  knell  upon  my  ear  : 
"  Oh !  to  marry  thus  would  be  a  dreadful  sin." 


CHRISTMAS    TALE. 
XXXIII. 

Then  I  saw  no  more  the  joyous  light,  nor  heard 

the  anthem  sweet, 

But  it  seemed  as  if  a  dark  abyss  were  yawning 
at  my  feet ; 

Till  my  angel's  voice  I  heard, 
Like  the  singing  of  a  bird ; 
Even  now  methinks  the  strain  I  could  repeat. 

XXXIV. 

And  it  whispered  of  the  vow  that  I  had  regis 
tered  above, 

Of  the  beauty  and  the  holiness  of  one  undying 
love; 

Then  my  heart  made  this  reply : 
"In  the  grave  until  I  lie, 
Ever  faithful  to  his  memory  will  I  prove." 

xxxv. 
Then  I  spoke  and  said,  "Dear  father,  there  is 

naught  I  would  not  do 

To  shield  thy  age  from  grief  or  pain,  or  bless 
ings  to  bestow ; 

Peace  and  joy  for  thee  to  buy, 
Oh,  how  gladly  would  I  die ! 
But  you  know  my  heart  was  plighted  Ions: 


CHRISTMAS    TALE.  205 

XXXVI. 

"And  to  wed  in  hate — 'twere  better  that    you 

heard  my  funeral  chime, 

Than   to    have   so   dark   a   record   placed   upon 
the  book  of  time. 

Though  to  you  I  know  'twill  bring 
Sorrow,  ruin — every  thing, 
Yet  you  would  not  have  your  daughter  do  a  crime." 

XXXVII. 

'Twas    my   father,    then,    that    spoke,    and    oh! 

how  noble  was  his  air, 

As   he  turned   to   me  and   with   his   hands   put 
back  my  braided  hair 

"  You  are  right,  my  child,"  said  he, 
"For  this  marriage  shall  not  be; 
Be  the  burden  what  it  may  that  we  must  bear." 

XXXVIII. 

Now  the  one  who  would  have  bound  me  by  a 

false,  unholy  vow, 

With  a  look  of  rage  and  shame  upon  his  dark 
and  scowling  brow, 

As  a  deadly  adder  stings, 
Muttered  coarse,  unfeeling  things; 
I  remember  how  they  pained  me,  even  now. 


206  CHRISTMAS    TALE. 

XXXIX. 

But   the   touch   of  peace  was   on  my  heart,  al 
though  a  pallid  trace 

Of  the  struggle  I  had  undergone,  remained  upon 
my  face. 

But  when  the  grace  of  Heaven, 
In  the  blessing  had  been  given, 
And  at  length  we  turned  to  leave  the  sacred  place, 

XL. 
Then   a   stranger   stepped  from  out   the   crowd 

and  took  me  by  the  hand ; 
Bronzed   his  face  and  thickly  bearded,  and  his 
dress  of  foreign  land ; 

But  it  proved  a  poor  disguise, 
When  he  cast  on  me  his  eyes, 
With  that  look  I  used  so  well  to  understand. 

XLI. 
Tli en  I  felt  a  wild   sensation,   half  of  joy   and 

half  of  pain, 

For  the  shock  it   was   so    sudden    it   had   well 
nigh  crazed  my  brain. 

And  my  heart  was  all  a  nutter ; 
Not  a  word  my  tongue  could  utter ; 
But  my  tears  fell  on  the  floor  like  drops  of  rain 


CHRISTMAS    TALE.  207 

XLII. 

Tims  'twas  in  the  holy  presence  of  our  blessed 

Lord,  tli at  we 

In    the   bonds    of   true    affection    should    again 
united  be  ; 

There  he  pressed  me  to  his  heart, 
And  I  knew  we  ne'er  should  part, 
For  my  angel  stooped  and  whispered  so  to  me. 

XLIII. 
It  was  Christmas  morn,  and  never   shone  from 

heaven  a  brighter  day, 

That     our     wanderer    returned,    and    promised 
never  more  to  stray  ; 

And  'twas  on  that  Christmas  night, 
That  we  heard  him  there  recite 
All  that  happened  to  him  since  he  went  away. 

XLIV. 
He    had    travelled    many    a    weary    mile,    and 

traversed  many  a  sea, 

And    the   wealth    that   he    was    bringing    back, 
he'd  gathered  all  for  me. 

In  sweet  peace  that  night  I  slept, 
For  in  life  I  ne'er  had  kept 
Such  a  holy,  quiet  Christmas  jubilee. 


208  CHRISTMAS    TALE. 

XLV. 

"With  these  words  it  was   that  grandma   to   an 

end  her  story  drew, 

Then    in    silent   reverie   remained    as    she   was 
wont  to  do. 

But  before  the  spell  had  flown, 
That  around  us  she  had  thrown, 
And  had  left  us  free  our  pastimes  to  renew, 

XLVI. 
"  'Tis  a  very  pretty  tale,   that,"    cried   a   voice 

behind  her  chair ; 

Quick    we     turned,    when,    who    but    grandpa 
should  be  standing  laughing  there ; 
But  'twas  plain  enough  to  trace, 
As  we  looked  into  his  face, 
That  the  old  man's  eye  wras  glist'uing  with  a  tear. 


V. 

NEVERMORE  I 


MY     MARY. 


MY    MARY. 

LOVELY  in  mind,  in  form,  in  face, 
Thy  gentle  heart  the  dwelling  place 
Of  every  winning  gift  and  grace, 
My  Mary. 

Though  beauty  try,  with  witching  wile, 
The  lazy  hours  to  beguile, 
Alas!  'tis  Vain  without  thy  smile, 
My  Mary. 

When  life  looks  drear  and  sadness  reigns, 

o         ' 

And  faint  each  hope  my  heart  contains, 
AVhat  then  can  ease  my  bosom's  pains  ? 
My  Mary. 

Let  fate  against  me  hurl  her  dart, 
Let  fortune,  friends — let  all  depart, 
Have  I  not  still  thy  loving  heart, 
My  Mary  ? 


212  FAREWELL. 


FAKE  WELL. 

OUE  boat  impatient  bears  delay, 

Hark,  hark,  the  warning  bell ; 
Alas !  'tis  come,  the  fatal  day, 

So  Mary,  fare  thee  well! 
Farewell!  dear  Mary,  thou  shalt  be, 

When  I  am  wandering  far, 
To  light  me  in  my  lonely  way, 

A  never  setting  star. 

Our  paths  that  part  in  winter  drear, 

Shall  meet  again  when  spring 
Shall  deck  the  earth  with  grass  and  flowers, 

And  birds  begin  to  sing. 
Farewell!  though  all  our  tender  joys 

This  parting  turns  to  pain, 
Old  Time  shall  drain  the  bitter  cup, 

And  fill  with  joy  again. 


FAREWELL.  213 

Our  love  again  shall  beam  out  bright, 

Though  darkened  now  with  sorrow ; 
In  clouds  though  sinks  the  setting  sun. 

He'll  brightly  rise  to-morrow. 
Soon  shall  we  meet  no  more  to  part, 

A  whispering  something  says, 
Then  here's  a  health  to  her  I  love, 

A  health  to  happier  days. 


21J:  TO  MARY 


TO  MAEY. 

WITH  A  DOUBLE  WILD  JASMINE. 

1836. 

WHILE  walking  in  the  green  wood's  shade, 
With  thoughts  of  thee,  my  absent  maid, 

I  spied  these  blossoms  rare ; 
Upon  a  tender  vine  they  hung, 
Sweet,  dreamy  depths  of  moss  among, 
That  iii  the  soft  air  gently  swung 

Around  the  little  pair. 

In  mingled  sweetness  round  they  threw 
Their  fragrance,  for  they  double  grew 

Upon  a  single  stem ; 
And  thus  they  closely  clung  together 
In  sunr:y  days,  in  chilling  weather, 
And  each  one  seemed  unto  the  other 

A  crowning  gem. 


TO    MARY.  215 

Ah!  thus,  I  cried,  may  fate  decree 
The  current  of  our  lives  to  be, 

And  gently  onward  move; 
And  may  our  hearts  in  joy's  green  sprinir. 
Or  when  they're  touched  by  sorrow's  sting, 
Like  these  sweet  flowers  together  cling 

In  endless  love. 


216  TO    THE    WILD    JASMINE. 


LINES  TO  THE  WILD  JASMINE. 

1850. 

WHY,  little  plant,  so  delicate  and  frail, 
"While  forest  beauties  all  around  me  lie, 

Wafting  unheeding  fragrance  to  the  gale, 
Canst  thou  alone  arrest  my  wandering  eye  ? 

Why  on  these  golden  bulbs,  that  tender  stem, 
Do  I  still  linger  in  so  fond  a  maze? 

More  fondly  far  than  on  a  diadem, 

Ambition's  votary  sets  his  raptured  gaze. 

'Tis  not  thy  beauty,  tenderness,  and  grace, 
That  weave  about  me  now  this  potent  spell ; 

Though  years  ago  they  won  for  thee  a  place 
In  my  esteem,  no  flower  could  fill  so  well. 

But  thou,  by  skilful  touch,  hast  joined  the  chain 
That  links  the  present  with  the  far-off  past; 

And  one  bright  sunny  spot  in  youth  again 
Sweetly  attracts,  then  binds  my  spirit  fast. 


TO    THE     WILD     JASMINE.  217 

Once  on  a  day  when  soft  the  west  wind  blew, 
And  my  warm  bosom  amorous  answers  lent, 

A  double  bloom  of  thine,  of  golden  hue, 
I  plucked  and  to  my  gentle  Mary  sent. 

And  now  one  boon — one  other  double  flower, 

"Which  like  the  former  I'll  to  Mary  send ; 
That  it  may  touch  that  happy  chord  once  more, 

And  keep  it  thrilling  to  life's  latest  end. 
10 


218  THE     STEAMBOAT. 


THE    STEAMBOAT. 

THE  fires  are  up,  the  chimneys  high 
Roll  their  black  volumes  'gainst  the  sky ; 
The  steam  set  free — its  deafening  roar 
In  echoes  dies  along  the  shore. 
Then  at  the  word  the  line's  cast  off; 
The  'scape-pipe  puffs  with  hollow  cough ; 
Our  keel  the  parting  waves  obey, 
And  we  are  bounding  on  our  way. 
Then  one  last  look  we  cast  behind, 
Some  face  familiar  still  to  find, 
Or  yet  to  catch  some  farewell  word ; 
But  only  can  the  hum  be  heard 
Of  mingled  voices  murmuring  on, 
Till  in  the  distance  lost  and  gone. 

Then  turning  from  this  fading  scene, 
"We  pace  the  deck  with  careless  mien, 
To  gaze  into  the  oily  deep, 
As  through  its  surge  we  swiftly  sweep; 


THE    STEAMBOAT.  219 

Or  watch  the  wreaths  of  vapor  rise 

And  mingle  with  the  misty  skies — 

Types  of  those  few  who  from  their  birth — - 

The  loveliest  and  the  best  of  earth, 

Are  ever  doomed  the  first  to  fade, 

And  slumber  with  the  early  dead. 

Xow  back  and  forth  the  engine  plies, 
With  giant  force  the  axle  flies, 
While  from  the  fluttering  wheels  are  thrown 
Two  waving  tracks  of  milk-white  foam. 
Away,  away !  o'er  the  glassy  tide, 
Like  an  airy  creature  she  seems  to  glide; 
Aside  she  casts  the  silvery  spray, 
That  melts  beneath  the  waves  away. 
And  a  balmy  breeze  is  whispering  o'er 
Our  prow  from  off  yon  sylvan  shore, 
Where  roses  and  wild  jasmines  bloom, 
And  violets  yield  their  soft  perfume. 

Here  while  I  sit  in  pensive  mind, 
And  listen  to  the  murmuring  wind, 

O  / 

That  dimples  o'er  the  smiling  tide, 
In  dreams  my  senses  seem  to  glide ; 
Fond  floating  visions  fill  my  brain, 
Old  friends  I  seem  to  greet  again; 


220  THE     STEAMBOAT. 

My  prattling  little  ones  I  see 
Again  come  forth  to  welcome  me ; 
And  one,  beloved  o'er  all  the  rest, 
Weeps  out  her  joy  upon  my  breast. 

Oh!  such  sweet  dreams  must  surely  be 
Faint  shadows  of  futurity — 
Promises  to  mortals  given — 
Angel  whispers  breathed  from  heaven. 
Speed  on  my  boat!  like  a  fairy  glide, 
"Who  laughs  alike  at  wind  and  tide, 
O'er  dancing  waves,  through  sparkling  foam, 
Oh!  bear  me  to  my  happy  home. 


WHEN    EARLY    BEAMS. 

SO]STG. 

WHEN    EAKLY     BEAMS,     ETC. 

WHEN  early  beams  of  blushing  morn 

Are  stealing  through  the  trees; 
"When  sparkling  dew-drops  deck  the  lawn, 

And  fresh  the  morning  breeze ; 
When  rarest  beauties  meet  the  eye, 

And  honeyed  sweets  the  smell ; 
When  on  a  thousand  charming  sounds 

The  ears  delighted  dwell : 

Then  from  care  and  sadness  free, 
My  heart  in  fondness  turns  to  thee. 

Wlien  list'ning  to  the  varied  songs 

That  fill  the  shady  grove — 
The  red-breast  wild,  the  merry  lark, 

The  gently  murmuring  dove — 
Or  to  the  humming  honey-bee 

That  sips  the  clover  red, 
Or  to  the  streamlet  gurgling  o'er 

Its  silvery,  sandy  bed  : 

Then  my  spirit  glad  and  free, 
Lightly  bounds  away  to  thee. 


222  TIS    PLEASANT. 


SONG. 


?TI8    PLEASANT,     ETC. 


Tis  pleasant  to  watch  at  the  eventide  hour 

The  sunset  soft  sinking  away  ; 
?Tis  pleas-ant  to  gaze  just  after  the  shower 

On  the  rose  in  its  dripping  array ; 
And  pleasant  it  is  in  the  grove  to  give  ear 

To  the  amorous  plaint  of  the  dove: 
But  to  me,  ah !    'tis  pleasanter  far  to  be  near 

To  the  beautiful  maid  that  I  love. 

The  softness  of  twilight  can  never  compare 

With  the  mildness  her  glances  bespeak ; 
No  rose  ever  scattered  its  sweets  to  the  air 

That  can  rival  the  bloom  on  her  cheek ; 
And  the  musical  tones  of  the  sorrowing  dove 

Such  melody  never  can  pour, 
AB   the  accents  that  melt  on  the  lips,  as  they 
move, 

Of  the  beautiful  maid  I  adore. 


WHEN    BRIGHT     GAUDY    BEAMS.      223 

SONG. 

WHEN  THE  BRIGHT  GAUDY  BEAMS,  ETC. 

X  the  bright  gaudy  beams  of  the  day  have 

departed, 

And  silently  steal  the  soft  shadows  of  e'en, 
When   instead   of   the   lustre   the   sunlight    im 
parted, 
The    soft   touch    of  twilight  has  purpled   the 

scene ; 
We   regret   not   that   down   to  his  -rest    in   the 

O 

ocean, 

Gay  Phoebus  has  driven  his  dazzling  car, 
But  we  linger  to  gaze  with  a  deeper  emotion 
On  the  brightening  ray  of  the  evening  star. 

It  is  thus,  my  dear  Moll,  in  the  rich  sunny  glad 
ness 

Of  pleasure  I  lingered  enchanted  a  day, 
And  I   turned   from    the   scene   with  my  heart 

filled  with  sadness, 

When  its  false  glare  had  passed  like  the  day- 
light  away. 


224:  WHEN  BRIGHT  GAUDY  BEAMS. 

But  in  thee,  dearest  girl,  generous  Heaven  hath 

shown  me 

A  soul-soothing  radiance  no  fortune  can  mar ; 
And   oft  when  the   light  of  thy  smile  is  upon 

me, 
I  think  of  that  beautiful  evening  star. 


THE    NOISY    OLD     MILL.  225 


THE    NOISY    OLD    klLL. 
1839. 

How  dear  to  my  heart  is  the  bright  sunny  green, 
Through   whose   vines   the   white   walls   of   my 

dwelling  are  seen ; 

Xo  sounds  from  the  world's  noisy  riot  e'er  come 
To  invade   the  sweet  peace  that  embosoms  my 

home. 
For  the  soul  of  tranquillity  breathes  through  the 

air, 
And  the  bees'  and  the  birds'  happy  music   is 

there, 

Softly  murmurs  the  stream  at  the  foot  of  the  hill; 
There's  a  charm  for  me  e'en  in  the  noisy  old  mill. 

Ah !   sweet  'tis,  when  forced  from  these   scenes 

now  to  stray, 

To  fancy  the  eve  of  that  too  happy  day, 
When  back  to  my  home   once  returning  again, 
And  silent  and  slowly  I  wind  o'er  the  plain, 
10*  15 


226  THE    NOISY    OLD    MILL. 

Come  thoughts  of  my  wife  and  my  little  ones 

dear, 
And  the  smiles  of  rich  joy  that  will  welcome 

me  there ; 

And  oh !  with  what  rapture  my  bosom  will  thrill 
When  aroused  by  the  sound  of  the  noisy  old 

mill. 

1859. 

It  was  thus  in  the  morning  of  life  that  I  sang, 
'Twas  a  psean  of  hope  in  my  bosom  that  rang, 
And  that  bright,  blessed  dream  I  so  longed  to 

renew, 

Awaited  me  always,  sweet  cottage,  in  you. 
Where  now  are  those  mornings    so   dewy   and 

bright  ? 

Those  sweet,  quiet  evenings  of  peaceful  delight? 
When  the   clear,  liquid  note  of  the  lone  whip- 
poor-will 
Filled  the  woods  that  embosomed  the  noisy  old 

mill. 

Many  long,  dreary  years  have  I  wandered  since 

then, 
And  joined  in  the  strife  and  the  struggles  of  men, 


THE     NOISY    OLD     MILL.  227 

But   my   heart   grows  aweary,  nor   farther   will 

roam, 
And   fondly   turns   back   to   its   sweet   country 

home. 

Then  comes  a  reminder  all  muttering  and  low : 
"Mem'ry — nothing  but  mem'ry  is  left  to  thee 

now 

Of  a  form  that  is  cold  and  a  voice  that  is  still :  " 
And  I  weep  when  I  think  of  the  noisy  old  mill. 


226  SONG. 


SONG. 

MY  Mary,  why  does  fate  thus  sever, 

Though  the  weary  period's  short, 
Hearts  like  ours,  whose  pulse  must  ever 

Throb  in  torture  when  apart? 
For  one  embrace  what  would  I  give — 

One  precious  moment  now  with  thee ; 
A  lifetime  in  a  kiss  we'd  live, 

Nay,  nay !    a  whole  eternity. 

When  earth  and  sky  in  smiles  I  see, 

And  all  around  me  gay  and  glad, 
'Tis  strange  that  though  I  think  of  thee, 

My  heart  should  be  so  very  sad 
'Tis  not  that  nature  is  less  bright, 

That  I  no  more  her  charms  can  see ; 
It  is  that  naught  that  yields  delight 

Can  please  unless  'tis  shared  with  thee. 


SONG. 


229 


But  most  at  night's  dull,  dreary  hour, 

When  I,  alone,  lie  down  to  sleep, 
Thought  —  busy  thought  —  asserts  her  power, 

And  bids  me  still  my  vigils  keep. 
Alone,  alone,  with  sleepless  eye, 
I  count  the  long  hours  tolling  by, 
And  wrapt  in  tearful  ecstasy, 
"With  all  my  soul  I  think  of  tliee. 


230  'TIS    ABSENCE    PEOYES. 


'TIS    ABSENCE    PROVES. 

'Tis  absence  proves  with  touchstone  rare, 

If  firm  or  frail  the  heart ; 
Pure  gold  a  shining  trace  leaves  there, 

£To  base  ore  can  impart. 

Tried  thus  and  true,  hope  gently  folds 

Her  network  round  the  soul, 
And  each  frail  web  a  fond  wish  holds, 

To  draw  it  to  its  goal. 

Thus  have  I  sought  within  my  breast, 

If  falseness  there  could  be, 
But  every  fibre  stands  impressed 

"With  constancy  to  thee. 

Like  lark  at  morn,  on  upward  wings 

My  spirit  strives  to  soar, 
And  with  a  loving  fancy  springs 

Back  to  its  own  once  more. 


'TIS    ABSENCE    PROVES.  231 

Clear  as  yon  star,  when  we're  apart, 
Let  faith's  pure  name  then  bum, 

Best  proof  how  one  devoted  heart, 
At  least,  for  thee  doth  yearn. 

As  mountain  stream  the  valley  seeks, 

As  rivers  seek  the  sea, 
As  back  the  wood  its  echo  speaks, 

So  bounds  my  heart  to  thee. 


232  THOU    ART    XOT    HERE. 


SONG. 

TIIOTJ     ART    NOT    HEEK. 

THOU  art  not  here, 

My  heart  is  lonely; 
But  as  when  near, 

Beats  for  thee  only. 
Ah !   best  beloved  one, 
In  thine  own  loving  tone, 
When  wilt  thou  greet  me  again,  love ; 
"When  wilt  thou  greet  me  again,  love? 

Each  coming  morn, 

Night's  gloom  succeeding, 
Presses  the  thorn 

In  my  heart  bleeding; 
Aye  must  its  stinging  pain 
In  this  fond  heart  remain, 
Till  it  is  press'd  against  thine,  love; 
Till  it  is  pressed  against  thine,  love. 


ABSENCE.  233 


ABSENCE. 

WITHOUT,  all's  dark  and  cliill  and  bleak, 
Tlie  mournful  night  wind  sighs; 

It  seems  unto  my  heart  to  speak 
Of  life's  realities, 

Of  sad  and  lonely  hours,  now 
That  home's  sweet  joys  are  flown  ; 

Oh !    the  dull,  aching  void  of  heart, 
When  one  is  all  alone. 

Yet  sweetly  will  to-morrow's  light 

Chase  all  this  gloom  away, 
And  to  my  present  lonely  night, 

Succeed  a  smiling  day. 


234  FIRST    FIRE     OF    AUTUMN. 


THE  FIKST   FIKE    OF    AUTUMN. 

On,  happy  fireside !    sweet  autumnal  eve ! 
When,  from  the  sharp  and  chilly  air  without, 
We  cluster,  as  the  dusky  hour  draws  near, 
Around   the  first  bright  blaze   that  warms  the 

hearth, 

Neglected  long,  but  cheerful  once  again. 
There  is,  dear  wife!    a  happiness  complete, 
Thus  'mid  the  prattling  of  our  little  ones 
To  let  the  time  slip  by ;   or  when  their  joy 
Is  o'er,  and  sleep  hath  sent  them  to  their  couch 
Of  sinless  dreams,  to  sit  together  by 
This    friendly   blaze,   with   spirits   hushed    and 

still, 

But  satisfied  ;   nor  craving  aught  that  the 
Great  world,  wTith  all  its  pride  and  pomp,  can  on 
Its  votaries  bestow.     Ah  !    this  indeed 
Is  happiness  complete — a  vision  dim, 
Of  the  bright  joys  of  our  celestial  home. 


IMPROMPTU.  235 


IMPKOMPTU. 

years,  dear  wife,  liave  passed  away  since 

we, 

Upon  the  verge  of  life's  expanding  scene, 
Stood  hand  and   hand  and  gazed  with   trustful 

hearts, 

Far.  down  the  dim,  uncertain  vale  of  time. 
Long  years,  alas !    and  half  our  journey  here. 
Like  a  short  morning  ramble  in  the  fields, 
Already  we've  completed ;   many  spots 
That  charmed  us,  have  we  dallied  in  upon 
The  wayside;   many  buds  and  flowers  have 
We  culled,  the  passing  hours  to  beguile. 
And  if  some  clouds  have  crossed  our  sky,  soon 

have 

They  cleared  away  and  left  all  bright  again. 
Let  us  not  sigh,  then,  at  the  passing  thought, 
That  time  begins  to  print  some  tell-tale  marks, 


236  IMPROMPTU. 

Reminding  us  that  we're  no  longer  young. 
For    me — as   I   grow   old — like   others   I   grow 

blind- 
Blind  to  thy  faults,  if  faults  indeed  are  thine. 
If  on  thy  face  some  lines  too  many  are 
For  beauty's  strict  requirement — if  the  rose 
Is  fainter  on  thy  cheek,  and  now  and  then 
A  silvery  thread  steals  in  among  thy  locks 
Of  chesnut  brown,  I  see  them  not,  but  o'er 
The  graces  and  the  youthful  charms  of  all 
The  world  beside,  my  eyes  unheeding  strain 
Until  they  rest  on  thee,  and  then  I  bless 
My  God  that  thou  art  all  to  me,  and  I 
To  thee. 


RETURN    HOME.  237 


EETURK    HOME. 

OH  !  happy,  happy,  happy  clay ! 
When  leaping  ont  upon  the  quay, 
I  bid  old  hackey  whip  away, 

And  haste  me  to  my  Molly. 

For  many  a  weary  mile  I've  been, 
Far  o'er  the  dark  and  stormy  main, 
But  safe  and  sound  I'm  back  again, 
To  see  my  darling  Molly. 

For  when  in  danger,  night  or  day, 
I'd  look  aloft  and  to  Him  pray, 
Whose  voice  the  seas  and  winds  obey. 
He  spared  me  for  my  Molly. 

"Whip  up,  my  lad !    for  here  we  are, 
Such  hearty  shouts  as  rend  the  air. 
My  darling  little  ones,  I  swear, 

Among  them,  too,  my  Molly. 


238  RETURN     HOME. 

Oil !    happy,  happy,  happy  day ! 

Sweet  sunshine  round  my  heart  doth  play, 

Oh !   that  with  rapture  too  it  may 

Light  up  the  heart  of  Molly. 


I    AM    NOT     OLD.  239 


I    AM    NOT    OLD. 

I  AM  not  old — the  count  of  years 

That  age  should  reckon,  are  not  mine. 
Above  me  still  that  height  appears, 

Whence  downward  all  man's  steps  incline. 
None  of  those  marks  as  yet  I  bear, 

That  in  the  aged  we  behold, 
Nor  feeble  step,  nor  silvery  hair, 

Reminds  me  that  I'm  growing  old. 

Yet  when  my  senses  all  betray 

That  o'er  the  earth  a  change  has  come, 
That  all  that  once  was  bright  and  gay 

Has  lost  its  beauty  and  its  bloom — 
That  Heaven  my  portion  has  decreed, 

In  loneliness  to  wTalk  among 
Earth's  joyous  scenes,  ah !   then,  indeed, 

I  know  that  I'm  no  longer  young. 


240  I    AM    NOT    OLD. 

It  needs  not  years  to  steal  away 

The  sunshine  of  a  happy  heart; 
Alas !   in  one  brief,  bitter  day, 

The  promises  of  life  depart. 
And  what  is  life,  when  cold  and  dead 

Lie  all  the  hopes  to  which  we've  clung, 
And  fondly  nursed  ?     Alas  !   indeed, 

I  feel  that  I'm  no  longer  young. 

Oh !   let  Time's  dreaded  tide  roll  on 
Toward  yon  dim  and  distant  strand. 

Do  I  not  see  the  form  of  one 

There  beckoning  to  me  wTith  her  hand  ? 

Roll  on,  dark  stream !   not  thus  alone, 
Earth's  scenes  I  care  to  dwell  among ; 

Alas !    quite  old  my  heart  has  grown, 

And  never  more  can  I  be  young. 

«/        & 


•YC    1442! 


